THE QUESTION

The answer does not lie in his arms
It is not in her smile
It does not walk in their shoes

The answer is not at the bottom of a cup of coffee
Poured hot and milky over sleep-filled eyes
Lounging under the blue skies of someone else’s greener grass

It is not a question of love or hate
Or a proposition of sorts with short-term definitions
Made to muddy puddles of friendly flirtations

The answer is more than money, less than time
Enough of a good thing to know the difference
When morning’s indifference arrives

The answer is not in the arch of a sleeping stranger
Or dangerous liaisons with lessons learnt a long time ago
In lots of little lines in and around your eyes and nose

It is not about the pout on a pretty face or the taste of testing limits
Taking trousers down with tongues to triumph your tricks
And lick damp finger tips

It was never for the fun of it
Fearing fire, or worse, the cool uncompromising curse
Of casual or curt correspondence that comes down the disconnected chain

The answer is not in the first drag of the day
The way forward becoming as blocked as your bronchial passages
Black and blue in patches of promise and poverty

The answer is all it has ever been in the past
A simple preparation
Knowing which question to ask

 

January 2010 – Braziers Park, UK

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