Photo Credit - Thor Muller - Flickr
Drummers Make Lousy Lovers
All the peanut butter, honey and banana sandwiches in the world
will not stop these tears from waterfalling,
and I’ll never take another entomology special study
without daydreaming of our favorite black putrefaction
that we love so dearly and know so well,
thanks to those morbid phone hours we wasted.
And next time I dance I won’t lead because you taught me how,
and I’ll choose white over wheat out of spite.
And when the daffodils die, Spring will too, and I hate that
but it happens, just like long wavy brown hairs that I find on my bed
that aren’t mine or yours happen, but I’m not assuming anything.
Good Records leaves a bad taste in my mouth and E.T.
might as well fly me across the moon
since you just let me fall half way.
Take my spare key and clip it to your belt loop and see if I call back.
I probably will, you know that’s my downfall,
but at least I haven’t driven by your duplex yet, wouldn’t that be psychotic?
And now pink toenails or French manicures seem ridiculous,
and why do I shave my legs after all? I never wondered before,
thanks, darling, for whitewashing my brain.
Power chords still play though we never wrote those songs,
and in church I won’t sit by you, and we’ll see who talks about it.
I’ll still read a book a month, even though I’m behind,
but all the upside down kisses in the world
and all the green tea can’t fix what you broke.