(no subject)
When I get to sleep I'll dream again of canopies and grapes. And wake shaking from the knowledge that the mattress holds your shape. I assume my phone is dead because it hasn't rung for months. If tomorrow is the funeral do you think that you could come?. I could give you back your music and your t-shirts and your socks. Walk to Jazz's house in SOHO cry into her letter box. Spend some time out to resuscitate my soul. Take up smoking and drink carrot juice and grow. Teach the matress to expel you from its folds. Then dry my eyes and keep on walking til the motion makes me strong. Until one day I realise I don't remember that you're gone. We'll be strangers who were lovers. I'll recover. It's so weird how time goes on.