I lie awake at four, staring at the wall
Counting all the cracks backwards in
My best french. Reminds me of a book
I skim-read in a surgery all about palmistry
I wonder what’s in store for me. I pretend
The plaster is the skin on my palms
And the cracks are representative of what
Is going on. I lose a breath… my love-line
Seems entwined with death
(Could be a spider-web)… I’m thinking of you too
I lie awake at three staring at the ceiling
It’s kind of off-white… maybe it’s a cream
There’s oily residue dripping from the ceiling
It’s art-deco necromantic chic all the dinner
Plates are kitsch with irish wolf hounds
French baguettes wrapped loose around their necks
I think I’m hungry… I’m thinking of you too
Wondering what you’re doing
What you’re listening to, which quarter of the moon
You’re viewing from your bedroom
Watching all the movies, drinking all the smoothies
Swimming at the pool… I’m thinking of you too
