Can't outrun the facts.
Can't chase the sound.
Disentegrating as they laugh.
Crumbling.
Bargaining with what is left.
Would things be different if I needed someone?
Would it hurt less, the sun bleed less yellow
the stars resonate with more empathy than pity?
What would you take as payment?
Can I borrow against hubris?
Day fades.
Fresh laundry on dry grass.
Callouses on cotton.
Plump hip flesh pleasantly spilling from the threshold of your jeans.
And that declarative, matter of fact crevice when you bend to refill my wine.
Would it be any different if I found a way to fake it
in that foolish
naive storybook way you want
Take me as I am, because that's more than you'll ever get.