Niggling cough, roundabout way of talking.
An atomic clock, detects the small discomforts.
Hard edges in the cafe where we sit.
If I were to look into a rock pool at noon,
it would be midnight then and we're
already late, as it is.
Are we crazed by the devils of gravity?
Unfamiliar furniture roundabout the place.
Flannel wool bent up broken bits.
Ties in a dish, in a very shallow cup.
If I were to look at your face,
it wouldn't be where it is during -
It IS, during the day, as it is.
At last, the lurch of planet makes sense.
A soothing balm is your, our ever
Calm way of moving.
Familiar covers, fuck, I'm glad we're lovers
If I were to close this door,
it wouldn't mean more than if
I hadn't, as it is. Here you are.
Have our molecules commanded?
She'll leave her crap roundabout the flat
In her ineffable glory of untidy
Leaves on shoes and glues unscrewed
If I were to hold her small hand,
it would be any day from the unsung
Past of the future.
Our stars are heroically branded.
