Cinnamon

Listen to Cinnamon here

https://open.spotify.com/track/23n1N1lAOcVA1jmojjg5om

she took a piece

delicious little tart

I spun her some yarn

on the off chance

she still harboured

any romantic illusions

 

I dished out

some tired old boiler plate

straight from the top shelf

an awkward confection

of fractured truths

and outright posture

I could sell snow

to the Eskimos

 

I know my face

is my best device

so I still throw it in

though it’s seen better days

I don’t rehearse

I do it alfresco

but it all joins up

in the ancient ritual

and no-one gets hurt

there’s no crime committed

 

she said somebody

stole her cinnamon

but that someone wasn’t me

by the time I got to her

she was shelling it gratis

to every punk drifter

who cast a glad eye

 

I thought it was a good thing

but I didn’t realise

she had ghosts in her blood

and absinthe in her eyes

we were never really lovers

but we fucked once in a while

 

I was aware of her derelict status

and her approximate  cliché

 she’d cut a raw deal from life

she dreamed of adulation

but settled for acceptance

 

it was always quid pro quo with her

she always returned affection

because she felt obliged

I told her she was easy

but she did not reply

 

she was wearing thin by this stage

she still had last year’s flavour

no-one remembers her number

she was a day away from stony

and another from the street

so I let her crash at my place