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Description
I left bruises on your neck
To match the three you delivered
To the off center of my left breast
And the scratches on your back
Well, those—those are companions
For my underside, red-trail scars

We're not animals or plants
Just little ghosts of our every whim
Waiting and lying and lying in wait
So you're a lover-not-a-flier
And I'm a leader-who's-a-liar
But
We do lines from Darwinian scripts
And say the things Darwin would want us to say

"It's evolution, kiddo" I muster
While the air is finely tensed,
Knife-sliced butter
You, bluish and breathy,
"I thought it was love?"
But our beer's turned to bread
In your cousins tainted keg
So I flesh out my history
And, Venus turned Artemis,
Shoulder my satchel in
The grapefruit colored morning

Nothing personal, dearie-dear
My insides merely lack the leathery armor
Of common citrus fruit
Or the armadillo
It is, after all, quite unsettling
To be aware of your own
Emotional frailty
To comprehend that your pride
Will stumble and shatter into
Crayola colored stain glass

So I held my heart under water
Until the beats became
The subtle clicks of a time device
Until my heart became clockwork
Thumping steadily, unperturbed
Until the water log and Spanish moss
Overwhelmed it from the inside out
And those purple-blue cogs
Turned no more

Description
I left bruises on your neck
To match the three you delivered
To the off center of my left breast
And the scratches on your back
Well, those—those are companions
For my underside, red-trail scars

We're not animals or plants
Just little ghosts of our every whim
Waiting and lying and lying in wait
So you're a lover-not-a-flier
And I'm a leader-who's-a-liar
But
We do lines from Darwinian scripts
And say the things Darwin would want us to say

"It's evolution, kiddo" I muster
While the air is finely tensed,
Knife-sliced butter
You, bluish and breathy,
"I thought it was love?"
But our beer's turned to bread
In your cousins tainted keg
So I flesh out my history
And, Venus turned Artemis,
Shoulder my satchel in
The grapefruit colored morning

Nothing personal, dearie-dear
My insides merely lack the leathery armor
Of common citrus fruit
Or the armadillo
It is, after all, quite unsettling
To be aware of your own
Emotional frailty
To comprehend that your pride
Will stumble and shatter into
Crayola colored stain glass

So I held my heart under water
Until the beats became
The subtle clicks of a time device
Until my heart became clockwork
Thumping steadily, unperturbed
Until the water log and Spanish moss
Overwhelmed it from the inside out
And those purple-blue cogs
Turned no more