Friday, May 23, 2008

Clockwork

This is how it goes.
It’s a party and I love that song
I sneeze and you say “Bless you.”
(“And did you know that a sneeze
Is the closest thing to an orgasm?”)
So we pull faces for half an hour
And tell the usual proud flash lies
Everybody notices
(“Oh look at them, getting along…”)
We drench ourselves in wine
At first my hands and I
We read you thoroughly before
We brush ideas across your mind
Across your trousers
I try to look coy like spring and
Summarize significance
In those sumptuous books and notes
I know you’ve tasted too
(“Well, haven’t we got a lot in common?”)
Soon come rainbow discoveries
You’ve got a pretty pebble of a girlfriend
And I’ve got a pretty grim lack of respect
As we fuck on a photocopier
It captures our elated position
Every five furious seconds
In blurry black and white
And we decorate the walls of the hall
With these sheets of intimacy
A great erotic mosaic
We made art
(“I like you” You whisper “I like you”)
Afterwards we attempt to attain
Some fleeting comfortable position
Squashed
Onto a reeking single mattress
A bed of our own making
In the dreams of the night
Everything makes sense
Reason marries us together
That tick in your brain
Matches mine
Clockwork
But when we wake up
It all reverts back to confused bloated
Simmering ugly stench reality
(“Are you ok?” “No, I think need to go home now.”)
Me too, me too stranger
Oh well
Next time I’ll hold in my sneeze



Hannah Murphy












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