Hot breath
Rough skin
warm laughs
and smiling
the lovliest words, whispered and meant, you like all these things. but though you like all these things, you love a stone, you love a stone, because it's smooth, and it's cold. and you'd love most to be told that it's all your own.

you love white veins, you love part-grey, the heaviest way, the clumsiest shape, the earthiest smell, the hollowest tone, you love a stone

and I'm found to fast
got too fond of flames
and I'm phoning my friends
and I'm shouldering the blame
while you're picking pebbles out of the drain miles ago
and you're out singing songs
and I'm down shouting names at the flickerless screen going fucking insane
am I losing my cool over stating my case? well bably what can I say
you know I never claimed that I was a stone, and you love a stone

you love white veins, you love part-grey, the heaviest way, the clumsiest shape, the earthiest smell, the hollowest tone, you love a stone
you love a stone because it's dark and it's old, and if it could start being alive you'd stop living alone, and I think I believe that if stones could dream they'd dream of being laid side by side piece by piece and made into a castle for some towering queen they're unable to know. and when that queen's daughter came of age, I think she'd be lovely and stubborn and brave, and suitors would journey from kingdoms away just to make themselves known. and I think I would know the bitter dismay of the lover who brought fresh bouquets everyday and she turned him away to remember some knave who gave just one rose, someday years ago.