My hair surgeon made a suggestion,
Recommending I try harder to be truthful
And farther from the stars of imaginary space,
So I placed myself at love’s mercy;
Prostrated my shape beneath her gaze
And lamented the number of months
I’d wasted collecting age.
The private deals life makes with you
Whilst asleep are impacting upon the
Future now that it has arrived, and I’m in
Middle of it, but as my love smiles in
Isolation I mirror her in punctuation, and we
Thank God almighty for the inventiveness
Of his secret servants.
And my son and I will exchange places
In the night, not so very far ahead: my hair
Recedes as his breeds, my teeth crash as his
Flash, my eyes dim, his gleam
And as my strength fails his will prevail
And he’ll end up carrying me through
The dawn of the next new day.
I’ve still not grieved for my father’s loss;
I’ve been putting it off. I’ve not suffered
Like I should have, like I would have had I
Thought more. But sudden death
Measures you, and with time it’s easier to deal
With; sweeter now I’ve got some hardcore
Love, top shelf stuff, supporting me.