Frozen (Salut d'amor)

Suddenly the phone rings,
Sends chills singing sidways down her spine.
There's this soft hustle and bump
as the cover-up sweater sinks to the floor;
Perhaps he's given in.
Perhaps he's giving up.

Perhaps it's what he always said;
'Perhaps today, love, I am dead.'

And blood frooze, made hands,
feet, toes go rigid with
pathos and wide eyed panic.
 
It sent shivers down her spine
And fears through her mind;
Perhaps he's given in
Pehaps he's giving up.

Her hands grasp the mug.
Bent back and eyes screwed
for the two year old vinegar but
there's nothing left to lose,
She's got nothing left to lose,
And she won't choke.
He won't go.
He can't go....

But he doesn't know.

Hands shaking, hitting the button
The phone picks up as she says
'Hello?'

Memories of tin cans and string
are flying through, expecting to
be heard; 'It's ubsurd' she thinks,
'How come I still love him, even after
all these years from childhood
to adololescence and further
into these dark, murky waters.'

Through digital flickerings and
binary drum beats she
hears her lovers voice:

"Honey, it's me.
I'm not dead yet.
They came at us
hard in these sandy
terrotories, they came
with car bombs
and missiles and I
missed you Honey,
How's it going,
Honey?"

"Good... good."

If only he knew
Few hours before
She had lain lurid
in fag stained
luxury
for inspection by
the zoo.

"I'll take you."
Said the fat cat
Glacing at his
pocketwatch,
"The missus is
out, but who
cares about that?"

It's not that she
loved it, anything
about it at all.
It's not that she
choose, felt
compelled to
work as a whore...

Because even in
the darkest pits,
Whoever it was,
She met with him
in her dreams.
They waltzed like
when they were young,
All the wonderful smiles
and sighs and giggles
of her college day prom.

But today the grey brought
her back to sordid reality,
and the political system of
prostitute practicality.  

If only he knew.

"I've a surprise,"
Says her love
on the phone,
"I'm leaving here
tommorow, honey,
I'm coming home."