On the day you came to stay

On the day you came to stay

On the day you came to stay,
I said some really stupid shit;
like doesn't this toast all chewed up look like vomit,
and I really dont care when your birthday is -

but actually,
I was thinking that touch is a kind of static,
that having sex accomodates the sum total of 46 desire football fields,
that this is the furrowed brow of yes yes yes
that your lips are like lists
and that all the endorphines make my skin sensitive while I am asleep.

But if images outlast what they show,
then the slow photographic swivel of the brain lens
crops on the backdrop
and in front of cathedral gates, a woman is given the things she needs
a man, is collecting tomb inscriptions,
and a girl offers her breasts like surveilance.

And apparently there are 50 dresses that changed the world,
12 people you should be afraid of,
5 friends, 7 stories and 1 lover who actually fits.
And apparently on the day you came to stay, I saw lip imprints on doorframes,
relaxed the muscle clusters in my eyelids, and said some really stupid shit.

Thing is, I knew that trying to stop touching, would be like air dusting,
that I am really defensive, that getting to know me is a bit like kissing backwards,
but I think its important that you know i've stopped playing plitics,
I'm stepping down the security, taken the doorman off the cathedral of feelings.