We’re all subjects of love
Subjects of fear and longing
living day by day
because – 
Smiling at the right people,
vibing the wrong.
Everyone sings their own song 
of their own love.

Fear and longing hide
in the inner parts.
I never wanted an ignorant melody
thickly articulated through a cloud of smoke,
tickling a beer glass
confused and stenching 
We all learned some manners as children
and knew they were true,
waving our banners of politeness,
mine red, yours blue. 
Purple would be a royal colour
if we combined the two. 

You’re wrong.
I might be right
all heads are “me” when they hit the pillow at night.