Whatever it could have been

Been writing poly poetry lately.

Love (or whatever it could have been)
ain’t never gonna come
easy like a trigger pull,
or beachcombing in the morning,
gritty sand beneath your feet
you can still see the crushed shells in.

And it scares her away
(or whatever it could have been)
like a shelling of England
the way that we feel
you know the escape.

The sky is totally black
because the lights on the ground are so bright,
Like a skein over stars
She doesn’t know her way through the footlights.

I don’t give a firey burning fuck
not the names and the faces,
the cast and the crew,
the stageplay you’ve got
keeping me away from you.

I wanna know what the caves on your seashore
look like at night.
With a torch and a camera
and a piece of crumpled paper
I’ll draw you a map
of all of your secret places
if you don’t flood me out.

But you don’t give me a cup
of water to drown in
(or whatever it could have been).