Apr 2012

six ways from Sunday


we speak at six then kiss then dinner
six sushi we order
we’ll roll like maki tonight
with “red beetle” white (acceptably light)
your blush at the falling from your mouth
enfer loup de mer

paradis lips i see
sky your eyes now
falling too alling too
you take a photograph the little asian girl
i’m no photographer i say
but at six tomorrow we know so we go.

we left and walked slowly
you liked the place and i your face
(started me smoking again) reaching my place we climbed
slowly slowly
got my laundry
in my room with you kissed you

six times we moved
there was yes opening
six with quiet paper thin walls
six with near and distant dangers
six with cats (verfrem and gordo
le beau)
six with knowing six with moving

night fell your eyes
my new blue skies
i showed you the book
Le Six Décembre
was right with klimt but missed on chopin
i sang you the words of a drowning song
yesterday the sky was you

my yesterday’s coming ’round
your natural hair your velvet black coat
your naked man and woman pin
your eyes coming ’round
i take your picture
my mind a photographer

your lack of culture
fuck you i’m french
i was born with it
you said
my my
my yesterday’s

my yesterday’s
my yesterday’s coming
my yesterday’s coming ’round
my yesterday’s coming round today
mmm mmmmmm
shhhhhh you said.

we woke sometime
after six
there were
croissants and tea
and sacrilege from milk only
white fur on your blacks

And slowly we walk down
slowly slowly
stepping down into a skyless sea
and six times we moved
and six times we loved
and six ways from Sunday

you me
you me
you me
you me
you me
you. me.