[Original] Poetry
backstrokes quicksilver breath
I think secretly you wonder
How love could become so tasteless
But really, darling, if you think about it
It's a simple matter of supply and demand
And something that everyone wants can be made very cheap in the back alleys
Because nowadays love has become a gaudy thing, so priceless
(Without value, so there's no need to scan a barcode, just take it why don't you)
Maybe, darling, you dreamed of days full of summer sun
Where you would run back inside, streaked with mud and sweat and all the promises of living
Mouth sulky with sugar and you canvassed hope
So that I could connect the lines between your freckles
Standing in the bathroom, you said to yourself
"I am not the favourite child"
Which was odd because surely
If love is so tasteless and cheap and so easily given
Because surely
If they had enough for them, they should have enough for you but
What is easily given is just as easily taken and not as easily received
So you will write your own dictionary, won't you darling
Defining all those vulgar crude halfpennypersyllable words
Opening up to a fresh page in your empty book
And never mind grammar, for what is syntax in the face of pure emotional feeling
Except the chance to be misunderstood
So today, we will define love
And tomorrow we will live it
And yesterday we will try again,
Unashamed at the tasteless way we try to give a worthless word meaning again
sunflowers and sunshine
The joints in your fingers are broken and twisted
Forming the roots of something macabre and obscene
When you reach for the sky and the god you always resisted
Lips bitten and bleeding but eyes serene
And you keep saying
That you'll always get exactly what you want because
That maddeningly indecisiveness
That maddeningly indecisive mess
Lets you change you change your mind
So you can always desire the inevitable
Isn't it pathetic?
[untitled]
I want to know the shape of your name on the curve of my breath
To map out the syllables along the briny taste we call air
I want to make every note of the music of you
A prayer to the patron saint of your heartbeat
I want to be the only one who knows exactly how long
The pause is between
One pulse and the next
Or that moment when it skips a beat for the sake of melodrama
And I want to be the only one
Who knows the pattern of the veins beneath your skin, twisting like roadways
Caressing the valley of your spine
I want to be the only one who knows how far your borders go.
I think secretly you wonder
How love could become so tasteless
But really, darling, if you think about it
It's a simple matter of supply and demand
And something that everyone wants can be made very cheap in the back alleys
Because nowadays love has become a gaudy thing, so priceless
(Without value, so there's no need to scan a barcode, just take it why don't you)
Maybe, darling, you dreamed of days full of summer sun
Where you would run back inside, streaked with mud and sweat and all the promises of living
Mouth sulky with sugar and you canvassed hope
So that I could connect the lines between your freckles
Standing in the bathroom, you said to yourself
"I am not the favourite child"
Which was odd because surely
If love is so tasteless and cheap and so easily given
Because surely
If they had enough for them, they should have enough for you but
What is easily given is just as easily taken and not as easily received
So you will write your own dictionary, won't you darling
Defining all those vulgar crude halfpennypersyllable words
Opening up to a fresh page in your empty book
And never mind grammar, for what is syntax in the face of pure emotional feeling
Except the chance to be misunderstood
So today, we will define love
And tomorrow we will live it
And yesterday we will try again,
Unashamed at the tasteless way we try to give a worthless word meaning again
sunflowers and sunshine
The joints in your fingers are broken and twisted
Forming the roots of something macabre and obscene
When you reach for the sky and the god you always resisted
Lips bitten and bleeding but eyes serene
And you keep saying
That you'll always get exactly what you want because
That maddeningly indecisiveness
That maddeningly indecisive mess
Lets you change you change your mind
So you can always desire the inevitable
Isn't it pathetic?
[untitled]
I want to know the shape of your name on the curve of my breath
To map out the syllables along the briny taste we call air
I want to make every note of the music of you
A prayer to the patron saint of your heartbeat
I want to be the only one who knows exactly how long
The pause is between
One pulse and the next
Or that moment when it skips a beat for the sake of melodrama
And I want to be the only one
Who knows the pattern of the veins beneath your skin, twisting like roadways
Caressing the valley of your spine
I want to be the only one who knows how far your borders go.