we'll stand like picket
fences in eerie, mirrored
neighbourhoods, strong
and pale, covered in paint
and poison. [the posts
dig homes for themselves
between skin and sinew,
displacing blood and spitting
splinters.]

they'll plant themselves
in our path,
colour themselves red,
with the cracked-heart blood-yolk
from their old love,
and say STOP!
[but this is our road,
this is our life,
these are our hearts,
and this is my promise.]

but paint will always fade
and shoes will never stay white.
nothing and everything will invariably
change, and pin-cushioned stomachs
will bleed discomfort onto raw cement.
[a stitch in the side, a plank in the
belly, but a trail will be left behind
to remember where we've been and to
focus on where we're going.]

to the right, to the right
up a little, see the star?
we're gonna make it that far,
baby this is just the start.
i mean this is the best part,
where we find out who we are,
where we lend a helping hand,
a pair of lungs, and a heart.
let's make photographic memories
where everything's a blur,
i mean every scene we see
is in polaroid picture colours.
write our feelings and emotions on the back
of our minds
["you and i - oddly, he was hers, thank God
she was mine"]

my eyes are wide, stars falling between lashes,
and i see the picket fence posts directing us there.
sweet history is what we'll be, our quarter's up, life flashes
loving you 'til my heart turns to dust and i become air.