The Dream Tree
Take your broken chords,
rivulets of harmony now disturbed.
Just arrived on the morning train
and I bring offerings;
oranges, friendship.
You hum the chorus and I pick out
a melody, as old as can be;
rhythm and rhythm,
as if we've known carrion
on a limited budget.
Sweat leads to sleep, my arm
around your shoulders, and breathing
is a piano delicate and twinkling,
background of palest grey
fading into purple.
Evening drifts through un-noticed,
your favourite unknown love story
as if renewal grows out of lust
for your sunshine skin.
You taste of salt, and I love to hear
your moans.
Night time and we dream. I pin
messages to the tree, messages
to the tree, to the tree.
Behind me, almost orchestral now,
a solitary piano picks up the tempo.
It's just like the real thing. We expect
a fading to drift in on the dreams
of old age. Time to go, time
to find the train again,
my sweet and lovely lady
of the dream tree sequence.
One neon sign, one neon sigh
and we have our exit.