It’s Sunday morning
I’m wide awake
Thinking of the stupid things i couldn’t say
How I hate the way you play “the smoking talker”
And the regrets full of complaints about your father
If I were taller would you love me still?
If I got sober will you keep cooking for me?
Another Crime Anthology half asleep
Another “I can’t get along with pornography!”
So this is what we really deserve: a glass of wine a blurry kiss a cigarette??
The day you came up starry eyed “I think I need you”
And after love you took a nap beside my piano
This is where we belong now
A warmer corner to get old in
A tidy place where you can hide yourself in
Cleared away from stomach pains
A place where you will be always my Michelle
Or someone else
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