Trinny, come and lie down by my side and breathe
Your perfect skin glows as brightly as that star
And you start to speak poetry about the days
When we were clean and the stars were just stars
You'd scorch, you'd melt
The life you were dealt (alas dear child)
Is fraught with white spectres
And full on black tigers
Who'd fancy your pelt
Trinny, don't you fucking cry on me
Your perfect heart like an egg, colored for easter
Fragile, painted upon rooster lips with a touch of fuzz
Speaking tirelessly of making love under the trestle
You'd teach, you'd track
It's mounting your back (heavy dear child)
You wail at the spectres
And stab all the tigers
Who'll pick up the slack
Trinny if you die I'll kill you, I swear
I love the way you feel naked, all consuming
I rub my freshly shaved face on your back, your buttocks
You coo and shiver as you ask me to hand you grandmas afghan
You'd squint, you'd smile
I walked the hard mile (loving dear child)
I'd marry the spectres
And tame all the tigers
Whose life is on trial
Trinny..... Can you hear me?
This poem of yours just rings with heartfelt emotion... it's a heart-breaker alright!
ReplyDelete(And jam-packed with lots of fruity goodness too!)
I've read this before, I remember it. I don't know if I commented, though. I like it awfully well. It all just seems so sweet and doomed.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful and sad at the same time.
ReplyDeleteHaunting, beautiful and sad. I do like these lines :
ReplyDeleteYour perfect heart like an egg, colored for easter
Fragile, painted upon rooster lips with a touch of fuzz
Speaking tirelessly of making love under the trestle
"when the stars were just stars"
ReplyDeleteYou've packed plenty into this!
K
This breaks my heart! Strong work!
ReplyDeletethis reads like a conversation of outlaw lovers. the kind who didn't really ever mean to do bad things, but somehow fell into it out of desperation and an acute lack of options. the kind that hold onto each other at night like the plumbline of the universe depended on it. the rhythmic murmur of prophesy, like the words of a carnival gypsy, that run through this elevate it to the mythic, and the outcast lovers are transfigured. immortal. goddam beautiful.
ReplyDelete