I wear your jewellery
I speak your name
I wish there was something other the blame
a heart that held love abound
simply could not make another trip around
the sun.

He had you buried.
It isn't what you wanted
and I love him (but I hope he is haunted
by that). He reads the bible now
thinks of you at the pews
I'm not sure whether he wants a trip to
salvation
or you.

I have considered catching that bus
with the one way ticket
riding through fields and lakes and thickets.
But what would I say when I got there?
that the weight was too much to bear?
(maybe).

You would send me on my way
I'd wake up on a sunny day
on your sofa like when I was seventeen,
windows tickled by the evergreens
with a belly full
of cake and soup and love
(and maybe)
the memory of that
is enough.