tim

So many things don't matter, like they did, anymore.
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Just by a rope.
Above a shallow pond.
So if it should break,
then, surely,
in my unconsciousness,
I shall at least drown.
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If we walk together will you
hold my hand, unhook
my fist
and unwind my tips.
Smoothe the claws from in my clammy palms.
If we sleep with each other will you
sleep on your side. So not to
wake me.
Then, when I wake, I see you
not as a beast.
Because this is what it's like, to love you.
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If I were a lapsteel Guitar, your song
would sound different.
We'd be Hawaii, on a beach, sipping on blonde
beach babes,
channelling the ocean through
a straw of frozen margheritas.
Being one, with the
crystallized
particles of sand and
discarded oyster shells.
But you,
are a fucking mandolin.
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It smells bad because you died here.
I think I saw your bloody corpse.
But i didn't recognise you when i kissed you,
though I say,
your mangled lips still tasted the same.
I don't ever remember that coat you were wearing,
it must have been new.
Shame, sorry about that. I'm sorry you died wearing your new coat.
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Sometimes we use the
wrong tone
when we don't mean to.
Like when you're on a bus and you
push past someone.
We offend, or get
offended.
Sometimes, too, when we love
we use the wrong tone.
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