How it was that Cupid arranged this
I do not know. That little fucker.
But you know when you wear a jumper
You only wear to bed, and feel it
The softness of all mornings hanging
There in the cathedral of your sleep.
You feel it brushing against your mind
The way that dry grass blows in sunlight
On the warm hillside, silent morning
Over the city? Well quelle surprise
Cupid weaponised it and bullseye –
I was on the bus, tired from walking
I was barely thinking, distracted
By a handful of small cares and time
That had nothing in it. What a shot.
Ricocheting out the café door
It blew my mind out my eyes. I stared
As this woman sat there in that light.
She was eating green soup, and talking
on the phone. And I’m damned to suffer
Yet again this fear that I’m a creep.
The bus stopped there for moment and
The world froze. I watched her spoon moving.
I felt at peace, with my brains dripping
Off the stop buttons and commuters.
My day was ruined. Goddamn Cupid.
The bus moved, time resumed. I slumped down.