and rainbows

fuck you,

if vestige were the word
i would have felt it
creep

soft as cat shit

on the flume
in my paper sail-boat
losing my shadow
to you

or- i would have banged the coffin
shut
maybe i would have felt your forehead
like my real mum use to

and she would love me like i was
meant for it,

but i don't feel that tender spoke
on my lonely wheel.

i guess your bathtub
was reproof
to my slight cling.

all i could do was slip back into it,
and you'd hose my spine
with teethmarks,

and we'd sing ourselves
the bible on how to be
in love

with cat shit and
tyre tracks.