Oh  I am fortunes fool,
for the first jersey wasn't right,
what first was so comfy,
kept me awake at night.

Since then was Summer,
with some jersey-less days,
too hot, too bulky,
I'll justify in all kinds of ways.

But Winter's chill has returned,
oh I am fortunes fool, defeat,
I've never met a jersey,
that smelled so sweet.

It surprises me,
how many times you still visit my thoughts.
I must have loved you.
Your stupid, arrogant talks,
as if you knew everything about **** and training.
Your white-trash romance,
that time you stood in front of my house,
a picked flower in one hand
a stolen tray of sushi in the other.
I loved the idea of us.
Teenage love, strong and
I know now, also short.
Our first **** on too much speed,
your friend in the same room
passed out and puking.
I didn't mind us fighting,
though I would have never admitted.
Familiar,
suitable for the Bonnie and Clyde thing
I wanted.
I liked waiting for you
worried
when you went out to paint at night.

But then, we went from trailer trash lovers
to bits of things we used to do,
in less than a second.

When you plunged
The light of Tuscany wavered
And swung through the pool
From top to bottom.

I loved your wet head and smashing crawl,
Your fine swimmer's back and shoulders
Surfacing and surfacing again
This year and every year since.

I sat dry-throated on the warm stones.
You were beyond me.
The mellowed clarities, the grape-deep air
Thinned and disappointed.

Thank God for the slow loadening,
When I hold you now
We are close and deep
As the atmosphere on water.

My two hands are plumbed water.
You are my palpable, lithe
Otter of memory
In the pool of the moment,

Turning to swim on your back,
Each silent, thigh-shaking kick
Re-tilting the light,
Heaving the cool at your neck.

And suddenly you're out,
Back again, intent as ever,
Heavy and frisky in your freshened pelt,
Printing the stones.

x

If I had a gun I'd shoot a hole into the sun and love would burn this city down for you.



*Thank you Noel Gallagher