Guess the best metaphor to use here is
a pop song, or is that a simile? Imagery? Well, anyway,
it’s like being in one of them ones with you, too cheesy to listen to
but you don’t want to use earphones to hide it, the kind
with a constant dedication to be faithful to you and only you
blaring in each chorus, deeper the bass in the final run,
every verse holding undercover butterflies as it narrated the story
of me waiting for you that sunny Sunday;
what pathetic fallacy, the sunny Sunday sunshine said.
Sporting casual, my clueless egotistical male mind told me
it’s just you trying to hide your own giddiness
and that I needn’t worry.
and my system broke down,
with every proclamation to abstain from this love thing
suddenly drained from my memory, alongside
any other insincere invitation from the other girls;
out of my spaced out mind,
colliding close to my euphoria-laced heart,
past my barely enduring stomach
to my trembling, crumbling knees,
forgetting I had such in the first place.
Poem featured on my poetry ebook Lost in London through Blurb Books and iBooks