I hit home with a punctured tyre,
and fractured femur.
Now pour, honey,
sparkling coffee into your collarbone,
while the sun revolves around us,
gut all the unicorns out.
how long will they
breed in your tummy,
while butterflies encircle
your fevered head?
the rusted train tracks are lamenting
for the scorch in November.
It’s time to don a leather jacket,
but with price-tags soaring,
your memories are the only warmth,
I can have now.
Artwork by: Odilon Redon
