I wish I could repair
Your beautiful arms, your beautiful hair.
I wish I could make better
Your old, favorite sweater.
I wish this argument would end.
It seems real, but it’s only pretend.
I’m not going to impress you with candy.
The grownup only needs a sip of brandy.
I wish I could go into my favorite store,
And purchase, until there wasn’t anymore,
And take it all home and be
A store, myself, in sad satiety.
I wish I could win with words.
I can’t. I don’t like words. I do like words. I don’t like words.
This wants you to have sex immediately.
Immediately it wasn’t me.
The whole collection of event-chains
Never falls apart, even when someone is sick, or it rains.
I wish I could be nice and tell you what is wrong
With being nice for so long.