7 July 2005
improbable romance 12
Billie, you’re a
minor planet
a strawberry in my hand an
electron cloud
desperate to discharge
your tin, sweet noodle, rockets
you flush the atmosphere then
clutch and spiral you’re
the last doctor
in my hospital because
after your accident
(I can see it coming)
your heart on ice will courier to
my gaping chest
but now
you smoke and jitter
the spotlight roves and you run to catch up with it
you mime in time, my dancing bear
you’re all my history imploding into juice
why can’t you get out of
my pocket?