Torque

Talk to me about leaves and books,
Sitting in the street café with your fragile
Hands wrapped around the coffee and the porcelain
Tell me about the goblins in the cupboard and the
Angel you saw when you were three, walking out of your window
Like the Messiah

Tell me about the golden rolling days of childhood summers
And the autumns under six foot of snow and time
And the winters that are never as good as they used to be

Tell me about the time you found out you couldn’t fall in love again,
And how you realised that you could beg
For a dying child you’d known for all of three days

Talk to me about God and men and cursèd
Eve, who made the mistake of listening
To the Serpent and choosing Knowledge
When she could have tasted immortality