Angora on cashmere
our parents have never been in love,
and you make me feel so smug
I wear the smile of the cheshire cat,
an emblem declaring you my own.
I cried for them in a jazz bar in Dublin.
Told each other stories
new and old.
I feel older than them.
Decided you only get one chance at love,
you blow your chances away
like particles off a book
in the sunlight of spring.
So cold, that winter;
left the ***** six euros
under the hood of his sleeping bag
like Santa’s elves
or is that vanity?
But I kept on looking back
and soon I will forget
because we are always looking forwards.
Wonder how long he’ll carry that sack
of bones?
It’s all we had,
I won’t think of misery until it is my
turn.