Like the Beatles you are: the hit of a lifetime,
Dated, but not; the rock, the roll,
Apocalyptic concerto on your own.
I’m all fucking exaggerating here — but you
Walk, me alone.
We’re screwed, all of us, when out of
Desire we’re born, to desire we bear desire
And in desire carry on.
It begins with us meeting in a neutral venue
Eating someone else’s food to someone else’s menu.
Given the caterer’s stained shirt
This is really class food. Enriching the borrowed moment
With our commitment to flirt.
“Ice cream? Or yogurt?” these options
Really matter. Among these senseless choices
We down our temporary voices that
In the end — alas in the end — you may choose
That piece of shit over me.
Like the Beatles. After a
Hard day’s night where I’ve been working like
A mosquito net. Where you search for me in all
The wrong places
Like in the case of women in all the cases
You judge me right all the time I’m wrong
Though the moments where for your
Sincere touch I long you say
That the burden of history and your life is such
That to me to give love you cannot afford overmuch.
When your love will have me back
I won’t hang on to love; cos
Where it’s spent there will be trees
Sporting branches holding flowers
To be caressed by lovers, to be hummed by by bees
Where it’s spent it will lie.
I cement where the ground to young
Acorns may give way. Knowing too well
That Oasis may drum
But that life’s too precious to meet them half the way.