The Only Thing That’s Real

In magical waters I once washed

A memory of us away, for, you see,

I was once dirty from what I squashed

And what I squashed was that bug called Love, a flea.

It bit and I itched, and I itched our

Marriage away, well, until it was raw, red

From friction and distorted guitar.

In magical waters, oh, we once were wed.

It’s ironic that you’re a rock star

And I’m a poet, because we’re both writers

But no one knows us or who we are.

Though, our bruises reveal that we’re both fighters.