I like to spend too much on things
I don't deserve because chipped nail polish
is worth feeling worthy for.
I sit on trains and watch the world
get dragged backwards like a
tablecloth magic trick
and I pretend I'm time travelling.
I wonder if I would love her sixty years ago.
If I look through my reflection, I can see
long paint brush trees perched on the horizon
sway back and forth to paint long strokes of pink
on smears of cloud.
I like to buy her sight with watercolour sadness
and clothes louder than paris because
I can't have worth if she doesn't give it to me.
