Your Hair Is A Metaphor

When your hair sticks out like that
To one side, along the edge
Like the sharp edge of my desk
Which I'm always hitting my knee on
You kind of remind me of old pictures
Of my grandfather, now late
He was harder
More worn
Not like your soft carelessness
and he had on an old warn stetson
which should have fallen apart years ago
if not for the dust of a hundred head of sheep
holding it together
tying him to his home and his profession
You smile
slightly cocky and definitely embarrassed
as I reach up to try and fix it
disturbed by the thought that I might fall in love with my reincarnated granfather
I wonder if he had that same smile
When my grandmother first reached up
To fix his

Tonight

Tonight
I will call you
I will call you by your name
Tonight I will call you by your name
And I will leave
And I will leave it at that
And I will leave it at that until you call me back
Shouting my name
Shouting my name with desperation
Shouting my name with desperation until you realise

That's not my name any more

no title for you!

Damn, this is late.

What
What would you like me to do?
I could lay here
Supine
Staring you in the eyes
While you painted me

Or

I could crouch at the edge of your bed
Watching you sleep
Waiting for you to wake up
So I could pounce on you
And make you smile

But

You say to me
I don't want that
I don't want smiles
Or paintings
Or your silly cookies and trinkets
I want something complicated
And extreme

And I say

Damn. That's lame.