Now, it’s not unexpected
that these things happen in the dark
But the shadows you cast
on the wall of my room
With the moon at your back
Made indelible marks:
Made of silver, made of autumn,
Made of skipping stones that sunk
and then went straight to the bottom;
Made of copper, made of clay, made of cardamom pods that I put in my tea
Now, there’s some good in waiting,
and there’s some good in not
And there’s Sirens that sing
of this nebulous state:
Between spinning the bottle
and sex in the street;
Between honest intention
and outright deceit.
Hush now, dear friend, do not speak!
There are words unsaid and they shouldn’t be.
Too much talking makes a man run far.
Surely, he’ll understand if he really cares.
Don’t be coy, boy, don’t be shy!
There are words unsaid,
but they shouldn’t be.
Now, I know it’s hard to say
all these things out loud,
But it’s okay—you can talk to me.
Go on Useless! Go on Obvious!
Go on Well-wished-And-Bemoaning!
Go on Stainless! Go on Seamless!
Go on all these things that I’m wanting.
But, Oh! Did you feel this coming on?
Like a snowstorm making wet tracks
up the path of my spine.
And, Oh! Did you hear that distant sound?
Like an old drum being thumped
in some bunker that sunk underground?