Oh-oh

Pass the blunt
and keep the words coming 
that allow me to resume falling
into your absurdity. It’s

all we need, in the mist
of smoke and the illusion of love.
Can I make a deal 
with my quiet, subliminal message?

“Your feet are massive.” Underager,
broken stranger taking a drag
of the emotional fag and passing it back
to the man, the slag.

I’m not saying you are
what you are. I’m saying I loved you
before all that, under the illusion of lemon
meringue pie. I’m left missing you now.

Let’s close our eyes and make peace
with the words and heat that you don’t feel.
You’ll take my body into my dreams
while in reality turning me over to stop the snoring but

save me, thin duke. Revolver, Sleuth, Shutter Island - this memory's playing tricks on me.