Black Current

I asked you what could be more romantic;
you read me a newspaper clipping of an intimate suicide.

You split three hairs over dinner,
one fell into your tea.
You said, what's the point in appearance
if in the end you're leaving me.

I found myself wondering what I could buy
for a soul who has nothing at all,
A dozen red roses and a chocolate heart?
All of your favourite bird calls?

In the narrow aisles of a supermarket
found myself between candy and seeds
recalling stories from your memories,
I thought of what you'd need.

Honeycomb because you're elaborate,
pain killers because you're calming,
frozen berries because you're always there,
and a bracelet because you're charming.

And on your birthday I sang you gold,
with all of the notes misplaced.
But you never cried when you saw your gifts,
only when you saw my face.