You may combine nearly something
With alcohol, sugar & lemon, department &
Honey, cream & the cat that received it, sweat & the breath
Autonomic, the lungs as sponges, the flowers
That accompany the lifeless & can not assist
However push again up by way of the phantom soil to
Wild the floor once more in time—gentle, & what it does
To us—an excessive amount of & not sufficient, love, you
Can miss nearly something with alcohol, yard
Solace & any hour the early morning has
On provide, my favourite ghost & her favourite cliché
Of constructing the entrance door swing slowly open by itself
At precisely the tempo my love would enter
A room if it have been alive & seen &
Invited. All apologies start
In condensation & finish within the sweep
Of a bar rag. On our knees we have now
The identical map of scars, the identical lit drive
To belong to a neighborhood conspiracy. None of us is
Well-known but. Solely a handful to date haven’t made it
In any respect. What’s your poison, says the physique,
The darkened window, the godswell that strikes
By means of the room just like the boy who’s constructed
Wings out of open matchbooks & goals straight
For the solar. At night time you’ll be able to combine up
Virtually anybody with their shadow, make up
Virtually any cocktail of salt & slap & grain &
Give it a reputation, the one factor they received’t
Overlook, their shadow handed out flat
On the ground beneath them. Gentle, &
What it does to us. Everybody at all ages satisfied
The music this 12 months is theirs alone.