Off The Tour Bus Poem by Mark. A Heathcote

I want to get off the tour bus.
Stop questioning my next destination.
Switch off the guide,
pointing out chalked bodies, a ghost in every other room.

I want to look out the window each evening
at what I took by the armful, gave back with a teaspoon,
my shirts folded, still warm,
the welcoming kiss, the arms that cling,
and see a montage of teeth,
smiles turned outward, smiles turned in.

Look at the woman I'm with
and tell her, you'll do for me, my love.