I feel the inferno of your glare
Leaving coffee rings in the back of our heads
You’re franticly checking your script
Up and down, Up and down, of course it doesn’t match
But you bask in all our moments
The way we synchronise
The bloom of our strobe lights
Making all the features of a broken England
Feel a little more tolerable the next day
Gagging for a next chapter
This can’t be the cut off point
Hiding all the little developments
For the sequel that’ll never come
But you yell, that we entwine better
Then a grandma’s Christmas sweater
There’s no way it could be possible
Outside the hand in hand sunset context
If there’s no hope for us
Then what chance have you got?
If we can’t patch up
Then what hope do you and her have?
Programmed by bestsellers
A middle aged nostalgic retrospective
The coming together of aching exs
To reclaim a lagging present
I hate to burst your bubble
But we’ve never been a slave to narrative
We were never gonna be normal
Just the way we were born I spose
Tearing up and gasping for air
Rainbows reflecting from the moonlight
Because if we can’t make
Then who the fuck can?
Maybe no one really can
And ain’t that bloody typical
If there’s no hope for us
Then what chance have you got?
If we can’t patch up
Then what hope do you and him have?
Domestic Poetry 