Slaloms.

You say baby are we drifting?
I say maybe just the snow is shifting.
You’re not impressed, I don’t know why,
And readdress the things you’re words imply.
You counterpoint with something worse,
But I anoint my own words with more sense.

If I’m slipping
Down the slide,
Will you take
The other side?
If I’m tripping
At the end,
Will you help me
Round again?

You say you will take no more,
And pick until you’re through the door,
And when the road is all there is,
Maybe then you’ll realise,
That even though we’re not complete,
We’re not as broken as the street.