Black Market

This weekend 
You were asked to buy a piece of love. 

Deeply frowned upon by all my friends 
Who always said you didn’t need me 
A problem I misapprehended 
Bolstered by your noxious temper—
As if you could not just let me love you

Sometimes I figure 
To be exhausting 
One must need more than absence of a reason 
A sort of biological conditioning 
Predisposition 
To act a certain way 

Bipolar celerity between your fingers 

Turns out you’re only here
When you really need me 
Uncomfortable sensation 
Romanticisms wasted 
Lies untasted in the corner of a bathroom floor 

This weekend you had said you meant something to me 
Something wild 
Like all the things you like to say 
Strewn across the balcony like moulting feathers 
Things you never needed 
Just like me 
Wrapped up in a wound beyond your head 
Chained in immaturity 
That you never really meant 

It’s one thing, honey, to be lofty and irrational 
It’s another to make promises you cannot keep 
Leading on a puppy with a silver leash 
Meant as if to worship you and all your castle keys 
Chase it all away this weekend 
Buy a piece of love 
Sell it on the market for a hundred 
Farthings traded in contemporary America 

Bludgeon on the street.
Severed minted beaches like kaleidoscopes are chiselled in the sand