my love, my fool

I know he’ll leave me one day
it’s in his nature to leave
you might call it romance
or cowardice
he calls it looking for new stories
I call it being a wanker
he’s not so fucking interesting himself
a lot of the time
all that bullshit about fear
and sailing
and writing
how many times have I listened to that shit
when he falls into the darkness
of somewhere else
but he makes me laugh
the way he attacks life like it’s his last day living
says it’s because he’s nearly been killed a few times
I think it was wired in him
since before the breast
reckless to a fault
even in the way he pours a drink 

when we walk down dark streets
I love his hands
big as gates
and I love the way he falls to silence
when a storm is coming
more religion than he admits
the fool 

so I’ll keep him
until he leaves 
don’t think me martyr
wouldn’t mind a change of scene myself
just not the break-up type
and I know he loves to die in me
so good enough
I guess