in the air where the thimbles between us
hold a spoonful of spite... and the light has the skin
of a snake, like a very lonely drum.
it's polite to say thanks to the devil that you know
but you can't sleep with your eyes closed
in an open question....

so the automatic pain that eats your heart right out
just might be the bruise you were looking for
and the dimples in the sun, have all the darkness
of a missing kiss
and this has never been a life
without a love
killing it.