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.