You run, nude, studded with splinters
Hair that is finespun and sunkissed
Cascading down the gentle slopes of your shoulders
Secret, cold, and available
A man loves a woman he never touches.
A beauty that has been complicated
Poetic insult in the
Small hours of the morning.
Idolatry of the body (celibate soul), of sex, no real love!
For my part, i prefer my heart to be broken
Its cracks shine in the dawn.
I fill them with gold and carry on.
I would love you more if i sat in a motel room rolling a cigarette
listening to you piss in the bathroom
No, there is nothing in the whole world that is quite your own
You didn’t do anything unusual (i only wanted you to)
And yet this is you.