to something permanent

it kills like pink elephants. it rings like pill telephones. false or not at all. all sore, caught, and i'll waste my days away like this. i'll waste my ways. a day like this? call me a dumb waiter, all i have on my hands is time and signs. call-up—a scrum player—but i love her demands and diamond eyes and she hates my dying sighs. i'll read, i'll redial and speed-wile while speeding around in circles. i'll bleed in the ground she hurdles with such grace, lips, marchpane, a starch pace in this stark race. with pea-coat kisses and remote misses i'll touch faith in such places, lose face. i'm bruised, tasteless and from the landing banged up. please take my hand, don't hang up.