this soft drum of pattering rain feels like us,
surrounded and unexisting,
in my july tiredness, in your old ways, in my
bedroom and the windows opened halfway just outside.
hold my gaze for a while, see me
for the person i was yesteryear when everything was
softer and easier.
my golden boy, the sunflower i couldn't keep alive in that beer can,
apologies fed it but never the sunny days.
the beautiful thing saw me at my worst.
i am
undeserving.
i am sitting, ruminating, dissolving the matters of a full cycle.
it couldn't have been almost a year, or six months at all. if you'd
ask me, four hours ago couldn't have been when i held my candle
on torbay beach making up my mind,
turning you another rough year.
