Romance,
romance
Why are we thinking of romance?
In my head
And as he does
The camera pans back
And pulls from my head into
The wavy sky
And shows the past
It’s only a few faint things
Looking over in the car
As she falls asleep
Or her breasts on the blue fabric
In the summer heat
Maybe the silence in between
Speaking when she’s not
Speaking to me
But more
It’s the light
Outside this room
Maybe that’s what she means
Maybe it’s the hope beyond
Publication
Or idle hands not constructing
Maybe it’s joy in sex
And maybe it’s something
Worth lying or fighting or running from
We’ve got to get back to the narrative
Or this story will stink
So the camera pulls back
It’s just a montage segue
From a bad eighties movie
Complete with the big breasts
And the Phoebe style ruminations
But when the hero is fighting
The giant
She will suddenly appear
In the end, in the denouement
Bearing prose and cleavage and
Deus ex machina Athena
Perhaps
So it is worthy of note
Now
For when the critics try and climb
Up my asshole