Social Wedding Rings

In a motel room in Colorado Springs,
 We learned what impatience brings
 To women who fool around.
 That summer was a strung-out mess,
 And you swore to God you had the perfect fix,
 And a plan to get us out.
 You said, "Don't you turn around.
 Leave your strings at the door,
 And just walk out."
 I sat in the living room
 And watched your girlfriend pack her things
 To move away from you.
 Our record: Buffy Sainte-Marie,
 And we held hands and cried
 'Til we couldn't see anything.
 You said, "Don't you turn around.
 You wouldn't like what you found here anyhow."
 So I took a red-eye from the Bay,
 Watched you watch the taxi pull away
 From Mission Street.
 The next time we would meet
 Would be a train wreck of nerves and sexless sleep.
 Mistakes made, empty hymns.
 I said, "Don't you make a sound.
 Nothing's careful in desire,
 Especially now."
 There were no accidents;
 We asked for this.
 But the South is not out West.
 There's nothing gentle about
 Our stomachs full of gin.
 We are alive, and we have no regrets.
 In a farmhouse in the Piedmont Hills,
 We learned what impatience wills
 To women who fool around.
 If thievery has a voice to to sing
 It's the choice and sound of moving hands
 Over social wedding rings.
 I said, "Don't you turn around.
 Leave your strings at the door,
 And just walk out."