bamboo melon

catch the look that paints tragedy on my lion face, you are pale on your chocolate couch. i feel like crawling up the empty walls and sponging potato halves into blurry spikes of color. you know. your singing voice splits down a choppy thresh of road, you carry me to different destinations. did you know, that the songs you write are moving pictures of your history. love, lies and destruction. it’s so bare and it takes the fight right out of your dragon crest eyes. i might not talk, but i move my mouth in words you understand, we have a silent conversation about the piano in the kitchen. petal to petal, sea creatures bend the waves of recognition, the wine slips down our swollen throats and we wonder why, the night is better. but bitter. it’s heavy heels on the hard wood and soft toes on the carpet, padding away to no where. i play, with the banjo in the corner, tinny ganders and a country quip, i like to pretend. but we are grown ups with brittle exoskeletons, awkward stance, you try to dance around the subject. smiles are reverred, teeth severed, i am thinking about the walk way to the steps of your house, and the curdled world beyond. it takes some getting used, to the idea, of losing.