In Our Undying

And what might?
My furnace bestow
If only it knew
Your whereabouts

The subtle signs
Of lying
Her planter pot
My plant

Some soil
Perhaps
A growing solution
Fed with feed

If only it burned
Properly
Up in our sky
The best parts

Almost unbelievable
Her fly in my soup
It adds flavour
My tip

For the waiter
For the chef
For the maître d’
For me

And her
Of course
Main tip reserved
For she