You walk like a wounded cliché
an unprecedented comma
separates you from the others.
You’re in love with the games
that you play in your mind.
In your head you play these scenes
so desperately. An imitation of
a Gondry or a Polanski.
You bathe yourself in red wine,
and transform into an Ophelia
and wonder why there is no
laughter in this room.
You heard irony is back in fashion,
so you practiced these steps,
but failed to deliver perfectly.
You smile like you are the first man
on earth to solve the apocryphal
mysteries of love,
While the light goes on with its business,
You pickpocket every last drop.
Nobody has ever been saved,
who doesn’t know the secret passage
these are the constellations
that greet the flesh.
And bury our memories deep
to where only each other’s hands
can find them.