* * *
Dear office dweller,
You may have noticed a peaceful patch of distant blue through the window, or a tiny triangle of light that managed to sneak into the upper right corner of the stationary cupboard, or a strange instant of peace just as your hand reached down for a door knob, or the warmth that a mailed message of beauty spread through your cramped legs, or the lovely colours that Susan from finance has chosen to wear today, or the wonderful clarity of the sunshine after you turn away from your computer screen, or a ghastly yet quite unexpectedly interesting quirk you notice about some stiff’s facial geography, or a completely unprofessional moment of honesty that, for a split-second, nobody knows how to react to, or the pangolin in the canteen, or a sudden realisation - a thought that is pristinely there before you - of being immeasurably powerful and calm and above all this nonsense?
Well that was me.
I just dropped by to say hello.
All my love,
* * *
She's good for me like my legs are for my torso
She's good for me like vitamin c, only more so
She looks like c minor but she smells just like rainbow
Obsessing me messing me happiness heresy losing my sanity oh no!
She wakes up and makes up a song and sings the solo
I go back to sleep and then she hits me with a yo-yo
She spits at me barks and then she takes off through the window
She keeps a candy bar inside her padded bra think I might take a bite oh yeah!
She's good for me like the queen is for the kingdom
She's good for me like philanthropy and then some
She kisses me, with modesty, then hits me with a dum-dum
Hurting me healing me sweet little injury bleeding me feeding me oh yeah!
She speaks in infra red and travels at the speed of light
She gives me her heart and a thousand pounds of dynamite
Tsunami, volcano and her favourite little meteorite
Right all along, she's a hydrogen bomb... and this is my swan song.
* * *
Your heart’s a hundred and one thousand crimes,
Which my heart commits, one at a time.
Your heart’s a poem which my heart explains,
Then writes on the walls of the underground trains.
I hear the song which your heart has sung,
My heart’s an audience, of one.