I found time, under the spit of the fountain,
where you shoved it when you thought
they were coming to tell you that The-
City was sinking. (this was before you
learned to steal light!) and it was massive,
that overgrown notion you had of "Love".
where do you keep that now? it must be heavy
on your smallness. does your singing still
sting the fragile morning air? would you
believe me if I said "I have been looking,
through the fog for you! yes it is true,
this girl has been running the mornings mad!"
the fool in me is so in love with the, notion of
loving you. and I like to think, that that
means something. I like to think "he
would be here like a streetlight if I had
been a less crooked person." because my
last stand had been so, sideways that night.
my poetry would be happy to hear from you.
(the poet would too)