Beauty Regime

Bruised suburbia passes by,
Remnants of home if I scratched and searched.
Streets curve away and cast what light they have,
Fade as the evening grows old.

I nod to my lunar friend, Klimt’s kiss waits for me,
Sleep comes like a dress to be undone.
Fountain of youth, so they called it, still stands firm.
Lights behind the door for good men to recompense the day.
Leaning over the iris of water, an Echo from far away.
So many things will outlast me.
So many things still to learn.

Pocks and grit and Graffiti walls and shadows fought,
All the lovers in the world and all the spaces in between.
The dogs crept, as you wrapped around me.
Perfect S, mascara tears, rags in my hands I grip to the light.
The hardest part is always the knowing.
You’re not the boy I thought you were, she’d said.
Pick the bones clean, leave her to her beauty regime.