Gotham

The numbers,
they come to me in dreams,
falling like rain drops on to my healing skin,
unfinished melodies, they colour me in,
identical and flattering,
dreamy eyes and bat wings,
oh be still my fluttering heart,
I promise it’s a good one,
no riddles or jokes,
codes, bombs or penguins,
fully wrap you inside my arms,
I’ll be there in an instant,
send me the signal,
you throw your head back and laugh,
there is darkness in you Batman,
I like where your mind goes,
but damn, can you be consistent?

Your unmistakable, magnetic charm,
it fishes me in; irresistible addiction,
but these butterflies,
born from beauty and sin,
conscious sentinels,
constantly sending me truth in sedition,
they sense all the depth,
and lack of conviction,
you would be missing, an affliction,
I can see it, cold bright and redacted,
you’re a sum of words that isn’t mathing,
a man shut down,
living in character acting,
bring me the cyanide and dynamite,
because you have no bite or traction.