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.