Burning Up Jet Fuel on the Circumference

1 February 2017

Boy, if I were you I’d wake up late
I’d put on a t-shirt, plus whichever jeans were at hand at the time

I’d show up half-baked, late and hungry
to meet friends already on their fourth drinks
there’d be no recourse in a redress, they’d know it on purpose

if I spoke languages like you
mouth full of syrup and all alone
I’d sing damp under bridges till my tonsils fossilised into the stone

if I’d exited my mother blazing bright
I’d light the candle at both ends
eat my oxygen through cylinders rolled with cardboard love notes

hell, if I could speak a another language
french or spanish, or anything half romantic
I’d let doorways bend to announce me

I’d stand in a stream with my cuffs rolled up
watch a pretty girl bump her soft feet over rocks towards me
the hanging wet ends of her hair
but I’d never know why girls start wearing vinegar on their necks

you’d burst jasmine
when I messaged at the start of spring
to tell you I’d be home for the weekend

at the bar, I’d drizzle a kiss on your cheek in front of your friends
the hurricane comes later

you’d learn not to mind when I never called back
I’d be burning up jet fuel on the circumference
you’d be skirting the propeller of a compass

if I were made of iron like you
I’d build myself up by the foot
for every extra pound of flesh they tried to take

fuck, I think I’d just set this thing on fire, I’d torch the day
wearing only your t-shirt, plus whichever jeans were at hand at the time

and these days, they stay up on my hips with just a cable tie
and a chunk of my own backbone really.

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