If I died
I wonder who
Would cry
If I died
I wonder who
Would die inside
I wonder if
They'd talk about me
Or if they'd just go home
I wonder if
They'd tell stories of me
Or if they'd leave my name
To blow away on the wind
Would my friends care?
Would my family care?
Would my name
Tense the air
Or would it make them laugh
From memories past
If I died today
I wonder who
Would actually care...
I was picking dandelions from next doors backyard and thinking
love is not just Luke-warm organs grinding together,
or having somebody at the other end of a telephone line
approximately sixty nine percent of the time,
or lottery tickets and movie screens with a ring on a forth finger.
Love is a gasping-for-breath twenty thousand foot freefall,
or 120miles per hour on the motorway and four hours on an airplane
to see your smile, with my chest ripped open and neck cracking
more than usual. Love is hands on face on lips on cheeks,
love is on the inside of our eyelids, on the inside of our veins,
we can't dig deep enough to get at it wi