Night spreading like tar
Lit by lamps overlooking
The yard pimped with cushions
Red wine and delusion
Had I finished talking?
You were there like a bat
Clinging to the overhang
Inverted like all the best lovers
Stars on your fingers
Excoriating my scalp
Before we had even spoken
Physical touch an explosion
Nooking in the kitchen like kids
Me on acid you pissed
A furtive forgetting of wankers
And the reality they impose
Walls turned to jello
Yellow sun on the rise
Thinking of what could have been
I watched your face shrink
Into the tiniest ball of hate
I have ever seen
© shaun patrick green 2013
No comments:
Post a Comment