sticky fingers, sticky mouth

i am lonely

you tell me you have the cut-key for the ignition

the curved metal sprocket which halts the go

you tell me you own the keys to the castle

you liar

you are the gas

you are the verb in the motion forward

 

if i wrote more descriptively would you love me better?

would you swallow this (all encompassing ___) and stop hitting back?

if i could tell you in colour, in form, in texture, in feeling

might you stop

and start

and bring us back to the beginning like little kids with fallen pink ice cream cones

 

but if i could write better, then i couldn’t be your kid

she doesn't know that the ice cream cone is only the beginning 

of being left with a sticky mouth and sticky fingers