Your smile makes me flutter,
Like it’s still 1987;
And turn away in efficiency,
As if I’d never seen you at all.
I know you live in far flung places,
With writing on the wall.
I have nothing to say to you.
I make myself walk away.
Does your ego need the boost of knowing,
What I withhold from you today?
I don’t know if this thing grows;
In the hothouse of my woes,
In the vacuum left by patience,
Or like a weed that pushes its way in?
I cannot knowingly be part,
Of creating barren land.
So bring on the weedkiller,
Tear out the roots,
Wash my heart down with water,
And unclench my fingers from your smile.
28/11/09
