Throat
When first in love you mechanize
distribute forces, calculate
you itemize and agonize
and stoke the fires and regulate
and maybe then the fires will stoke you back
and lying on the couch
you realize her swollen mouth
and say, “I’m not surprised it’s you”
It’s real
It’s really
Deep in love and swimming for the shore
you make an island of an ordinary day
it’s just an ordinary day
hopelessly you’re lost inside
the task at hand, inventing
you needn’t count on muscle memory
I’m not surprised it’s you
It’s real
It’s really
In your throat
It’s in your throat
It’s in your throat
It’s in your throat
When love is over, love is through
well, you might sit around
for a week or two and think on
all the things he’s done to you
or, you might call him on the phone
and tell him all the ways that he was wrong
or you might tear the phone out of the wall
and say, “Fuck it, baby, I’m not surprised it’s you, you, you”
It’s real
It’s really
In your throat
It’s in your throat
It’s in your throat
It’s in your throat
When you come back out on the street
the sunlight touches down upon your face
and all the venom in your veins just burns away
you come back like a flaming tire
rolling across cornfields
lighting all the boring people up into the sky
I want to be there
I want to be there
feel that heat
to feel that heat
to feel that heat
It’s real
It’s really
In your throat
It’s in your throat
It’s in your throat
It’s in your throat