Tuesday, 15 April 2014

12. Of all things

This, of all things, is easy.

You’ve the keys to my bikes & houses,
I’ve the passwords to your presence

so when you die I can update them all:

see you later stop
    I love you stop
        be back soon (stop)
            I’m gone

This, of all things, is not
quail eggs or sugar-perspex;

it will not shatter in the morning
under the heft of beams of sun.

Of all things, I am grateful that
no matter how lewd or loose

the evening gets, by hangover
I am already forgiven.

My like for you is tough bricks
& scaffold poles.

Already, we have vaulted the cringe.

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