when i was a child i did not name things i loved
'this is my favorite marble'
would always lead to somebody asking for it in a game of keeps
Instead of cleverly manipulating language
Just these words for you, my darling
'you kiss me like you really mean it',
he told me once,
not as a compliment, more of an accusation.
eventually, you will reach the point
where there aren't even memories
just memories of memories
of things that seemed so important at the time
she sees beauty in everything
the abandoned factory with its broken windows
telling stories about times gone by
the junkies always picked queen and bowie - 'under pressure'
and the gi's chose 'take me home country roads'
as for me, i don't remember what my favorite was that year
probably something german and girly
i took apart a watch
and found, studying the pieces
that time wasn't in there
reading your self-aggrandizing scribblings
i realize that even though
your ego is the size of a planet
there might, just might, be somebody in there