I like to imagine that we are so ordinary

We have names to shout from rooftops
From which we can jump, arms akimbo

And take leave of our bodies in religion.

 

I like to imagine that we are so ordinary

We can dedicate our lives to some gentle lethargy

Tea and rampant bibliophilia

A vintage car fixed up with love, and a battalion of leafy plants

Hushed evenings of curry, and the drone of a TV

Redoing the walls with tubs of paint

Teetering on ladders, wiping away the crusted white

From the tips of our shoulderblades.

 

I like to imagine that we are so ordinary

I could slip inside your ceaseless summer

Fit as an Armani suit

Folding over in the wet, warm creases of your skin,

That the wings on your back are plastic imitation

Dyed chicken feathers glued messily, come undone in my hands

And that we are shaped by the pull of gravity

Burning human satellites

With no politic or gradation between us.