Enjoy a little taste of yesterday today
Inside used to be full of amber thick goo, so heavy it won’t come off the spoon or your finger. Stretching sticky strings, a high percentage of your guideline daily amount but we’re already fat. We put it all in oaty flapjacks. You measured the ingredients, baked it at one ninety degrees. Now I smell more metallic than sweet, like a loose filling or the taste of blood. The lid won’t go back on properly, sitting wonky. It dented when I forced it with a blunt spoon. There’s a dent on the back too, perfect for holding your thumb, if you want to touch me but you won’t want to. Outside I’m green, jealous. All the good things happen to everyone else. I’m stuck to myself, choking on lost syrup. I sit on this desk watching you sleep. You never noticed me change into this sad little tin. Have you missed my voice, my laugh, my grin. I watch your back, your t-shirt riding up and I don’t have the heart to wake you. I don’t have a heart, only a lid. Lift it, look inside me and find me, please. I’ll put myself nearby. Sweet dreams.
I feel strongly that you should hook up poetical-wise with my pal Gerard:
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