The Lovers

The Lovers - Rene Magritte, 1928

Watching the bubbles rise through your pint

Like grains of sand in an hourglass,

Whilst the rain beats down on the pane outside;

These smaller prisons to pass.

Those eyes that flirted, perverted by season,

Lines run amok through heartache and reason.

You could take a pen and scrawl on each one:

'Here is December 2008,

When I realised you couldn't let go of your past;

And here is the New Year's Eve of that year,

When in favour of cheer you forgot your own heart.

Here's where I saw how you always sought ease,

Clutching at fading memories;

Too scared to entrust your fate to me;

Your future, your past, your elegy.'

I loved you for guilt of what I had done,

But it led me to crawl at your heels,

In paying my debt I ensnared myself,

And your touch became my seal.

But time has embittered the lash of your laugh,

And the rain has run dry your lips;

Though your nylon-clad thighs chain my joy to your whim,

and your face has my vision eclipsed.

Still, sat here with you,

In this jailhouse bar,

I'll seek a collusion at last;

You're the face of love,

But you're not the whole,

You're a memory of the past.