The Day. (Rewritten)

Take the placebo pill
and tell me of the migrane you suffer, the day after. See, I am proving
you are beautiful because I can mock your funny face and though you smell like
horse's urine you can still come round

and eat a piece of mind,
with your forgetful lover, for breakfast. We leave the house, 
staring at our feet as
we kick through London Town with no real plans.

We end up looking for
road signs to Petticoat market.
It's busy with humans and the inhumane. 
You introduce yourself as Scatty

and I'm Floosy, you say 
but lover, please
keep your hand around my wrist
to protect me from the bartering I'm too innocent for.

You are slick, Scatty 
and I am sick in the stomach
from the morning placebo pills
and the scent of horse's urine, 

from the breakfast pieces of mind
and those bartering, summer-insulting voices 
in our precious London Town.
You are my grown-up Ken 

because you stay around and because I'm in love with  
your funny face. I like the days you take a chance
on my innocent gaze but Scatty-slick,
I double-guess when you catch me unprepared

with your questions, after questions.  
"Who are we? Who are you
when we are just ants 
in our busy London Town?"

I don't know anymore than you do. 
Can we just take it
one day
at a time?