dead romantic
tips the stem
of
his glass
towards the sky
with silly
drunken wine
smile
hung out like clothes
drying
on a chiseled jaw
dreamy electric breeze
blowing
with new music
in his ears
about to be
released
tomorrow
and her on her bed
dead to the world
perfectly sewn
soft as pussy willow thread
soft as cottoncloud stratus
lite bright lamp woes
first song crescendos
rosedale sirens and fans
humming sleepy hymns
her awaiting him
with nakedness
always perfectly lit
like a film crew
had already perfected it
this shot
is his one shot
to maybe not
die
alone
like others
like parisian morrison
we forgot
hearts across
a pond
it in people
he's still your fag
he's still forgiving
she's worth surviving
another morning
actually
he can't wait to wake up
not surprising
it's
the way the light hits her
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