I was like that a while ago Now I’m on a field reading a book It’s a book of poems by Sylvia Plath And the world looks terribly sad On the horizon but here the grass is green.
Your face looks blue in this light Words softly said… you’re wonderfully lyrical When you’re sad. What a terrible thing to say Suddenly exclaimed, a laugh, swift movement And drag of a cigarette. You stare at me
And say: that’ll **** you you know But you look so good when you do it So does it matter really and I look at you And laugh and feel alive for the first time In years and years and whispering you say
Remember the time we had met And you showed me the way you painted So dreamlike, so expressionistic. I stared into the canvas and was ****** Into your mind, you put me into a trance
As potent as the nicotine rush of a cigarette Take a draw and I watch the smoke Rise into the air and far away… How much of this city’s air is tobacco A quick query a weak laugh.
Golden hour and the green hills Turn into sand dunes collapsing In on themselves, things come and go In that way, time passes in a blink of an eye And suddenly there is a void.
Nothing remains unless you put it on a canvas. My body tears itself apart every seven years And one day I will stop with the blink of an eye And I never would’ve been here. They’ll stay. The sands of time may drag me away
The universe through my eyes May implode and blink out But regardless of what happens to me They’ll stay. They’ll always stay. Your eyes are drawn to a canvas
On which was painted dreams A splash of red, figure shining gold With grey above it being the smoke From a half used cigarette. Staring at it hours after it’s conception
You tell me it’s the best work You’ve seen in a long time And even though I can’t take compliments I turn to you and say, name it for me. You call it expression of sunlight.