Lovers prance into the bar.
I drink in their shadow,
pretend the last year
didn't happen, that you
are still waiting at home,
painting, drenching our
walls with passion, parcelling
canvas with vision, cats
curled warm at the foot
of our bed and time to waste
in the morning. When I walk
alone, ghost arms constrict
around an invisible you.
I can hear you purring.
I can feel your fingers
pressing my hands into your breasts
like a scarf. I can look
into the night, see the light
of a thousand fickle stars
who died long before we lived.
I need fiber and Jesus
to make me strong. I need
a clown to twist balloons
into giraffes and make them come
to life, make them stampede
and raise dust in their wake,
burst them like hope
when the party has ended.
@ - 2008 - McConnell