I look for love
Somewhere it doesn’t exist
Or far away
This realm or someplace else
Wrapped in a blue bedsheet
Our tired bodies
Don’t wanna move
Don’t wanna go
Someplace call home

I want a hotel room
White sheets
Artificial cold
And some artificial truth
Or lie
Who knows
With a ticking clock
And ticking love
I want him to go
Never seeing that face again
In morning
Before checking out
I would love to have a tea
English breakfast
Whilst counting the crease
In the white sheet
Before it gives warmth
To someone else
Before it gets washed out
The moment
The crease
And me
Bleached well like a crime scene


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s