Irony & Romance
The breath leaves John Kennedy's mouth like I can't even see. I don't know that much about Communism and neither do you. I'll write you a story about super-heroes' villians and how I feel every minute of all day.
My boy's back on my side, and yours never left you. Twist, apropos, apple, Acropolis, benthic, body politic; I don't know that kid in the least, but he lives in the corners of my eyes.
I'll trace you like a crime scene, speak to you like my superspy microphone. We'll wait in the park, listen for the numbers station on the shortwave radio, spin the decoder ring and swallow the evidence.
I used to with Mars in the fake and the lie. I can't tell if you're a lowering of my standards or just scary or far too bad for me. I thought the same of Alex, though, and he wasn't even at the time. Let's cram all our ex-lovers in one short paragraph, sing along to something, and lie around all the afternoon falling into fainting couches with Daisy and Gatsby and you and me.
You could die any old minute, darling, and all I'd like to know if the end is before the start. You pack me up and unwrap me like Christmas ornaments. Maybe I was pretty, but I'm all false advertising and turn of phrase. You'll come 'round or drift away and I'll think and think and sweat into my silk until all my clothes are threadbare.
I know I'm alone if I'm with or without you,
But just bein' around you offers me another form of relief
When the loneliness leads to bad dreams,
And the bad dreams lead me to callin' you,
And I call you and say, "C'mere!"
- Rilo Kiley, "Portions for Foxes"