the woman with my ring, she rang

just to say,

"Goodnight.

  I know you're working hard these days.

  Everything will be alright."

silencing the phone insight

it's so easy now to lie

when the face I face is reflective screen

and I key in my reply

and so where were we? oh yeah,

that's right: drowning in this dive

sat on a lacklustre lacquer bench

where no friendly eyes dare pry

beneath some halos of halogen

we speak of ancient psalms

and disembowelled mammalian forms

you know just how to turn me on

and by dim light, it's so clear

how stranger is the problem where

we both want the same thing

we both want to fuck

it all up:

every picture-perfect memory

the holidays along Atlantic coasts

the anniversary in Old San Juan

arguing who loves who the most

they're all picture-perfect memories

but I need something more

a photograph to hold onto

and you god damn whore