Listen to this word, and forget for a moment how fucking ridiculous it is.
Listen to this word, how they speak it, how they spit it,
And still they tremble where they lie.
They tremble, but they don’t know why.
Love, in your throat,
Like an egg rolling down your tongue, clipped by a bit lip.
Love…
A hesitation, and no one knows the last part, no one dares…
And that word of eagerness, when violence is done and the world doesn’t give a shit?
What will we call that?
That is not our word.
Ours is a frightful thing, and bright.
Ours is liquid and sharp, hidden truth in brazen lies,
Lonely dots in shining eyes.
Life wearing Death’s robes
Death robed in Life’s.
Listen, to this word, which is a confession.
Listen. This is happening now.
You’ve broken through the ice, the lake is full of oil
And you’re drowning.
And sure we’re crass,
But we’ve come to the heart of the matter.
This love, this heavy love,
These hands and the great plains of the dead.
Speak the word, and become a lover,
And a lover is but a barren thing,
And two lovers are but two barren things.
In each other’s arms, still, they turn away.
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