Gathering thoughts…
and we are standing there
match in each hand
in a room full of petrol
pretending not to notice
the air shimmering in a quiet resonance
something we’ve seen before
fairy-tale tangled in ‘what ifs’
scared of bruising whilst knowing
exactly
one wrong move
and the place is ashes
and dust
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ask and you shall receive the phrase cushions my grave i’m destined for this i guess but if you wish to dance just be my guest and i’ll join you for our sweet macabre one last tango to my funeral sonata but i need you to know your weapon; the word so help me decide who’s dying first?
with eyes that grow flowers and a cool that blooms calm one that pinches your cheeks but before you blink is gone and you stay there, cherry blossom pink like a summer moment on a half-frosty morning or an April shower he walks on, hands in his pockets and eyes that could grow flowers
plane tickets and a dusty suitcase stacked away in lofts, in your search you only found the one thing that was never lost and yet you yearn for parts of you you cannot reclaim because your broadened horizon means you’re not the same and yourself is the only one to blame.
i guess i suppose i can’t say for sure but then again maybe can neither confirm nor deny that you’re in my mind all the time maybe I’ll win maybe I’ll loose maybe it’ll just blow the fuse and we’ll sit there in the dark pitch black wondering how to make it out of this mess
and not on a Thursday. saturday wedding. suited and booted. pastel flowers. pink tie. Then reality sinks in. The plan is not mine to make. And you’ll marry on a Thursday anyway.
