by Samantha Hartley
You’ll always be mine honey muffin,
You know that?
Mine. Not in your heart. But mine.
Slapped in my back pocket, I got me a picture
Of a time where happiness was the border
Surroundin’ this image of life where
We hang, and there it be in plain sight:
A perfect rendition of connectin’ the dots.
Hitchin’ home from prison
I only be escapin’ from past to present
Which ain’t much better my love. My love.
You always said I looked best
Engulfed in the hue of bright orange-
Well I guess me and that sun you like so much
In common after all, but I’m missin’ light.
Your light and my love.
The only imprints we have the power,
The audacity to leave on this earth
Are our fossilized footprints,
They kindly let the Earth know how far we got
Before bein’ captured, patted down, but
They can’t take away my back pocket,
They can’t take you when you are as good
As gone, my love.
Even when walkin’ on the trails
Graveled by shame, love is only
Real when it shrivels,
Much like our brains in air,
Our bodies become polluted after openin’
And I gutted us. A stupid fuckin’ surgery
Of our love. But now it’s real, and it’s our love.
In my front pocket I got a ball of lint,
Showin’ there be worse thangs
Than being empty,
Like knowin’ you
Without bein’ able to love you.
But they ain’t gonna take that,
And you ain’t either, even though
In my front, shirt pocket I had me a beatin’ heart once,
And you took that, my love, a while ago din’t you?
The secret is this:
I got me a stash of cash buried under our oak tree
Our oak tree
Your new family played on top of it without knowin’
Without knowin’ ’bout me
And soon, it will be in my pockets,
To buy me a new life
And I will buy me a frame for that picture
That picture of our love, my love.
My pockets could be filled with gold,
But I will always be
A criminal on the run
And I got my picture of you
I will simply be
Filled-in grass under
your oak tree.
Love. You’ll know who was there. It was me.