You’ll be able to combine virtually something
With alcohol, sugar & lemon, department &
Honey, cream & the cat that acquired it, sweat & the breath
Autonomic, the lungs as sponges, the flowers
That accompany the useless & can’t assist
However push again up via the phantom soil to
Wild the floor once more in time—gentle, & what it does
To us—an excessive amount of & not sufficient, love, you
Can miss virtually something with alcohol, yard
Solace & any hour the early morning has
On supply, my favourite ghost & her favourite cliché
Of creating the entrance door swing slowly open by itself
At precisely the tempo my love would enter
A room if it had been alive & seen &
Invited. All apologies start
In condensation & finish within the sweep
Of a bar rag. On our knees we have now
The identical map of scars, the identical lit drive
To belong to a neighborhood conspiracy. None of us is
Well-known but. Solely a handful to this point haven’t made it
In any respect. What’s your poison, says the physique,
The darkened window, the godswell that strikes
Via the room just like the boy who’s constructed
Wings out of open matchbooks & goals straight
For the solar. At evening you’ll be able to combine up
Virtually anybody with their shadow, make up
Virtually any cocktail of salt & slap & grain &
Give it a reputation, the one factor they received’t
Overlook, their shadow handed out flat
On the ground beneath them. Gentle, &
What it does to us. Everybody at all ages satisfied
The music this 12 months is theirs alone.
