The Flowers In The Vase

Cars that dribble their crumbling growl
I know where you found that money
And out of the corner of you eye you see the shape
Clear but blurred, reminding you of a song
A tune from some miners whistle
A smudge of pollen has been rubbed from the lilly
And you smile as you past the reflection
Something you wish you could do more often
But you live with someone who is more involved with earth and flowers
Than blue eyed vanity and closeted narcissism
You are a son but you much prefer to be a lover
And the photographs you frame are of your friends, mostly on the edge of being at odds
Some are of the superstars, none you have met and some you never want to
Some have written songs that you sing for the boy in the garden
And you sing them as you lean against door frames
As you carefully comb out the pollen from the flowers
And rub it on your cheek and smile in the mirror
You could be a flower, a whole movable species
Coming and going and distracting the boy with the filthy hands
The boy who finds it so easy to compare men to stalk, leaf and petal
You have a whole cupboard full of silk, satin and colour
You have a whole head full of dream and judging thought
You write so you don't have to wear boots when you walk up hills
You write so you don't have to dig too deep to know what is happening below the universe
Between you, your reflection, the window and the boy holding the glance
Is a flower bed that only matters to you and him
Flowers that have grown because of gentle care, because of love
And inside you have written clever thoughts onto the page
You have turned somersault after somersault in your loopy scrawl
Sometimes drinking beer from high brown bottles
Other times wine from green bottles that have come from the central west
All the time, as your head grew warm and light, he was out there binding himself with the weather
The season is dry, the days are windy and you can not stand the flowers in the vase