All For Two, & One For All

Only those who know how to truly love
                                    know how to hate:

we wait for them to despise us,
a prophecy possibly more fulfilling
than anything they’ve offered us before…

Life has become an idea; vapour
rising from the surface of a shrinking
lake, never to return again.

Our first fuck was a clumsy mess,
but am I wrong to see the dignity
we’ve since spent building beginning to crumble?

Who’s the most humble, the pessimist
or the optimist, & is it naive
to believe that the only worthwhile thing

is to keep giving a shit
                                despite the odds?

‘cos I’m all in now; no backing out:

you’ve got everything I can give.

So it’s time to ride or die, to fight or hide;

to fucking decide & then fall,
                                if we have to,
on the hill where

we’ve chosen to demand the impossible

& laugh at the improbable.

                               

Broken corollas

For D

Pressing flowers between the pages of
                    stolen poetry books,
not knowing
or caring
how long the process took
or if it would work or
                    just cover us
in the evanescing colours
of broken corollas…

Gladly wasting away the day
we discussed stolen poetry & plucked
                    flowers;
distinctions & equivalence;
the thrill of transgression
& the ambiguity of possession.

Telluric currents of nuance
passed through us as
a consequence of curvatures
                    of time,
of our spines, of
the invisible line

unspoken, our agreement breaks
upon the edge of love & hate:
permanent & inconclusive

our ideas about true beauty
make it hard to live
but if you promise to stay
            I’ll promise not to leave…