Sylvie Hill

The Arbitrary Intentional Summation

And if it makes you vile
Then it makes me a witch
That I didn’t give a toss who you were with!
And you didn’t care much that night in London
And we both didn’t give a shit.

And if it makes you impulsive
Then it makes me spontaneous
That I didn’t give a fuck what happened that night
And you didn’t care much to be wrong or right
And we both didn’t give a toss, alright.

And if it makes it magic
Then it makes it fated
That we two would end up like that at the end of it.
That I said what could happen and you didn’t resist
And you didn’t seem committed
And I made a choice to break it.

Devilish, derelict, disciplined, and mad.
You were the best night I ever had.
A Muse departed is a life fell apart
In a night over Asahi, a sushi offer, and a party in Dalston.

I try to date now but who can compare
To a night where you meet your match in a death stare.
And a bruise, and a mistake, and deepest understanding – rare.
With such directness that strips you bare.

And if it makes you tragic
Then it makes me pathetic
That I kept on for years trying to dissect a fiction.
But when it tries to replicate with another husband
And doesn’t work cuz reality is not the musation,
And we broke rules to break rules for conclusion?

That we two took it to as far as it would go
In tempers and temperaments and impatience.
In delivering permanence in transience.
Rhys, it was random and how random was my station.
How beloved the calculation of the arbitrary, intentional, summation.

Sylvie Hill, February 2019, Montreal