Love, the world
Suddenly turns, turns color. The streetlight
Splits through the rat's tail
Pods of the laburnum at nine in the morning.
It is the Arctic,

This little black
Circle, with its tawn silk grasses - babies hair.
There is a green in the air,
Soft, delectable.
It cushions me lovingly.

I am flushed and warm.
I think I may be enormous,
I am so stupidly happy,
My Wellingtons
Squelching and squelching through the beautiful red.

This is my property.
Two times a day
I pace it, sniffing
The barbarous holly with its viridian
Scallops, pure iron,

And the wall of the odd corpses.
I love them.
I love them like history.
The apples are golden,
Imagine it ----

My seventy trees
Holding their gold-ruddy *****
In a thick gray death-soup,
Their million
Gold leaves metal and breathless.

O love, O celibate.
Nobody but me
Walks the waist high wet.
The irreplaceable
Golds bleed and deepen, the mouths of Thermopylae.

I’d like to say I’m over it,
I mean, I really wish I could.
It really is about time I quit,
But this pang has got me good.

I know I’m not the first one,
Heartbreak is chic, it’s classic.
It’s likely older than the Moon and Sun,
Felt in times Jurassic.

The truth can’t be sugar coated
I can say no, and deny, deny, deny,  
I’m Sandy, I’m hopelessly devoted,
And not the first to cry.

This all feels so stupid and melodramatic,
I try to deal with charm and wit.
It only really hurts when things are slow and static,
I can’t wait ‘till the day I’m really over it.

The other day I looked at some photos,
Memories played before me as if they were live.
How funny the way time moves and the way life goes,
What feels like a day was really 365.

So much can change in a year.
What you want, who you love, what you fear,
365 days can either give or take away all you hold dear.

For me, a year has brought me plenty,
New hair, new friends, another year in my 20s.

But what a year hasn't changed,
Is the way that I feel.
Between you and I, no words have been exchanged,
A year has done nothing, no wounds have been able to heal.

Some nights I'll look again at those photos and still shed a tear.
In time things will get better, check back again this time next year.

They say that there are other:
Fish in the sea,
Eggs in the carton,
Chips in the bag,
Flowers in the garden.

But he’s not a fish,
He’s not an egg,
He’s not a chip,
He’s not flower

He’s him, a person,
And me? I’m a coward.

I sit here alone,
I’ve given fear all my power.

I guess he’ll never know.
What an absolute ******.