Rough Diamonds

.pink

oh god, it's like fish roe in eyesockets,
like pomegranate seeds sitting on the windowsill,
waiting for home, waiting for flesh colored teacups
and shots of cotton-candy vodka.
they warm me up and push me over,
we haven't got much left 'til the end of october.

but city slick rhymes and
freshly burnt guitar strings;
aren't delicacies to savour.
keep it in mind, darling lightning kid.
i mean, it's practically a mob waiting to happen. .
so bring on the candied hearts, m'dear
this is all about the one-two-three
ritual of waltzes and running away from home;
crisp taste of rose lace and blush applied on cheeks.

you see, i remember more or less of how it was:
curdled milk selling faster than rough diamonds,
drunk among the painted telephone lines,
lonely without you, electric child, dead without you,
coiled in secret under the desks, leg and arm
and left knuckle skinned in the softer parts of
fighting, casting half spells, ouija board fingertips,
and the four-five-six of reaching out and touching her.

we don't even have enough time to tell the old architecture goodbye.
cobblestone streets fleeing the smack of shoes and fruitflies

sparks never lasted long at any rate, darling lightning kid.
and, oh! there's the pinched toed teens,
who all know places where you have to walk
with a knife in your pocket.
and oh! there's the pink haired boy, inviting you in;
glazed and dipped in schemes.
we just have to pray that we'll be swept away,
by flotsam and savage dreams.