It would’ve been so easy y’know?
The oak was in clear sight at the cross roads, my number 12
By this point I could’ve had ‘em pecking seeds out of my palms
My sense of fulfilment appropriately enough: full and my purpose clear
Kick my heels up at the mounts resort and await 13 to take it away
But to think what I’d lose in the process…
I’d miss all the time you’ve called me a two-bit cunt
As the red shell connects with peaches rear wheels
I’d miss all the intense colliding of bunions
As traumatic as the plates beneath California
As we feast on peanut butter sandwiches and milkshake in the park
I’d miss the times your nashers have sunk into my arm
As I trace the lights shine around your Jugulum
During the closer of a drunken summer festival
I’d miss the surge of the heat as we project;
An impressive form of shadow play on the tent walls
For any music lovers passing by to see
Accompanied by the sounds of J.T echoing from the main stage
I’d miss the ways that your eyes dilate as I outline;
My predictions for the ends of this Journey
Eye that believe I can and wants to bare witness
I’d miss wiping away your tears from my shirt
As we collectively take the strike to our emotions
By a scenario writers attempt on our brazen personae
There isn’t a prize, a title, salary, career
An inflated sense of fulfilment, ego or self esteem
That could be worth your absence
Anything worth doing is worth doing
With you illuminating the view, my number 6
– Lnc0
Dedicated to Esme
Domestic Poetry 