Flowers And Blankets

The prettiest flower in the garden

Could never match the warmest blanket in winter

And I, when I am wrapped in this blanket

I see colours

That my eyes have stolen from this prettiest flower

And I feel I am the size of a strawberry flower

Yet my heart wants something the size of a hot air balloon

And all I can taste is the roasts of childhood

Burnt, but tasty

And I want to count the syllables

Written within every letter from a friend in London

She has blue eyes

The man I love has dark eyes

I have grey eyes

And there is another who also has dark eyes

For every bar of music

The nausea rides the ocean

Like a broken pin

Stuck into a champagne cork

And the music never stops

Like the Ocean that the cork must traverse

I never like to think of my paranoia

I never like to think of my childhood roasts

Somewhere there is a beach

Full of corks and waxy wings

Slowly sinking, slowly becoming aware of the weight

And the isolation

And what do we know of these things

Of the quarters and the fifths

I am never going to spend the sigh

Never going to hold my breath

As I sink to the bottom

I will be exhaling my thoughts

Of summer’s flower and winter’s blankets

Should I hold on to what is forever changing?

Believe that eye colour stays the same?

Somehow amongst the garbage that floats in the water

I feel the nausea drive itself away

And I somehow think of someone else with dark eyes

Think of his exhale against the falling night

And I weigh myself with sleep

Wrapped in colours stolen

Wrapped in a love from the past