The Common Touch

I came out of my mother

Renowned for compounding numbers

Came out of my mother

With a head

blessed for figures

& with yours now above me

Both long & unlovely

I think we can safely say

Such sums must become me


A kiss as disingenuous as this

You know what I am

So let’s not pretend


You’re short on grace

But you’ve an empty space

That I fit just right

Yes, I fill just right


I came out of my mother

As pure as power

You’re delicious & desperate

& God knows where your dress went


Still smug & smart

Well bless your precious heart

Would I stay the night?

Might I stay the night?

Forgive me if I respectfully decline

Because there’s just no time

& I’ve got my pride


While wealth & waste may breed expensive taste

It’s true what they say:

take pleasure from the simple things you pass along the way


Should fortunes fade, of course they’d do the same

We feign no fainter praise

But pity not the pretty things you break along the way

There’s pleasure in the simple things you break

Take pleasure from the simple things you break