In Medias Res

But let's talk about you for a minute With the vomit at your gullet From a half bottle of vodka that we'd stolen from the optic On the back seat in your car, because it wasn't safe to start it You were "far too fucked to drive" were the words that you imparted And the woolen dress that clung so tight, to the contours of your body And the dead grass stuck to fibres from us rolling in the lay-by Were passed to dog-haired blankets That protected the bench seat covers And a crucifix was hung from rear-view mirror by your mother I'm leaving my body to science -- not medical but physics Drag my corpse through the airport and lay me limp on the left wing Drop me at the highest point and trace a line around the dent I leave in the ground: That'll be the initial of the one you'll marry now I'm not around I flew for seven hours The sky didn't once turn black [in the background] You know I’d sooner go down in a ball of flames Than I would lay here and be bored to death All’s well that ends I wake from sleep, my head and shoulders wet against the window A frost had formed and melted, soaked me right through to my collar bone If you were given the option of dying painlessly in peace at forty-five But with a lover at your side, after a full and happy life Is this something that would interest you? Would this interest you at all?