clemence your stone ideals
see words are metaphors
for chaos of metal ores

acquit bad thoughts
screen printed in reverse onto your t shirt
and sewn deep in the back
of this boudoir manifesto
you so love to show

three’s no magic number
magic’s a metaphor too
for awe
and misunderstanding, idiot

two is triumph
two is love

it blesses you with magic
there’s something real about you
not just a dart of light
across a funk of meat
in that tempered embrace
you’re more than a flicker in cosmic heat

one is monologue
one person talking
pretending they listen
self affirming
ending every story,
the quiet avenger

dreamers be careful
relax a bit
you can only ever hate yourself
don’t eat your own ****