I want a beautiful branch to land upon when I am tired flying
A blue branch
not a blue vein transparent Irish hungry kind of blue
but blue, bleue and beautiful.
I want a face to chew upon when my own face disgusts me
A living face
not a corpse bitch leave me now would you fuck you love you cross face
A pink face
Wakeful, pink and winking.
I want a place without that relieves the place within
A holiday castle
with walls to stop me getting out but I can turn them inside out, the place I had at three
A place free
happy skipping me.
I want an expensive tent for rest on my travels
A tiny tent
that pops out full-fold with room for a jacuzzi, the jacuzzi of my heart with a hundred subtle settings
My bubbling heart
of young red wine.
I want a beautiful branch to land on
A smooth arm
held out like a stick in all weather with the sleeve rolled up
that I can occasionally pick at thoughtless
that can rot beneath me and I glance to another the same.
But the other will be the same one
because that is the best of being, to be different but the same
That is the best of love, to stay
And when my beautiful branch dies away
That too
Will be
Okay.
