Dancing with the idea I might like
That tousled fro
Those 121s that drip with laughter
And those pre-sleep minutes doused in the hot flames of a fantasy.
Distressed by the thought
Of upsetting you
Of playing second fiddle
To another
Of watching you sidle up, delicate hand outstretched
Helpful words cascading from your tongue.
Playing with the idea of biting your earlobes
Jaded, sepia hours spent in an apartment
You cooking, innocent
Turning dangerous, unable to bear the air ablaze with passion.
Crooked arms and tangled feet and bodies slapped together like ham onto bread
Wet from the heat, hot wafts of wheat.
Smile sticky with sweetness
And good intentions
That curtsy before me in every catch up.
Category: love
When you realise he’s maybe just not that into you and everything slows to a snail’s pace and you start tearing your hair out and balling your eyes out.
The journey has come to a screeching halt
From pedal to floor
I heard its thunderous roar
As it stopped dead in its tracks.
Panic ensued
Anxiety came
Asking myself “what is this game?”
Because we’ve started shuffling cards, dealing hands
And I’m no longer chugging along sands
Of limp, moth-eaten metal
No carriage to rest or settle
Just an abrupt shove into a passerby
Flung from my seat with emotions awry
Buckle up babe it’s going to be a bumpy ride
From here on out
With this particular duvet-lipped guy.
When I realised I’d fallen
As we rolled past the river
The monuments
The gold-clad beasts
Shaking, bathing in the glow
Of the water’s edge by Waterloo
Your duvet lips spring to mind
Permeate the creases of my brain
Invade my thoughts with a pick axe
Cutting down the others
I’d been growing
Like sweet nectar.
I melt beneath them
Chew on their plumpness
Get high on their juices
Those rolls that seal me
Like an envelope
Your loveliness cuts through
And bubbles beneath the surface
As the train tracks roll by.
I think of you when the night curses
And the day yawns open
And when my phone buzzes
And my body yearns to be touched.
Duvet.
You are gorgeous, vibrant and have the hair of a rockstar, the mouth of a warm, spring-saddled duvet and the eyes of a twinkly blow torch.
They cut through me, singe my skin and seep their warm fire into my body’s crevices unapologetically.
Set alight by you, oozing your thunder, I’m completely captured, spellbound, clad in chaotic lust.
Your duvet lips envelop me, like Peter Pan and Wendy, they send me soaring through heart-addled skies and my brain fizzes and rages against the air and that bulbous London Eye gently rocking on the horizon.
Island dreams, coconut groves
I knew it was going to hurt.
Like a severed limb, cut off, bleeding
it was always going to have an unsavoury feeling.
The amputation was set in motion back in January
when I told you I didn’t love you
anymore
and we ran circles around our words
had muffled conversations in burger bars
and pressed our palms together in desperate solidarity
and then we waited.
The operation commenced in the month of May
when we went our separate ways
left with bloody stumps, the both of us
our bandages were cherry-red and ached
we knew it would take time to heal.
What I didn’t bargain for was the loss of two limbs
– one for you and one for the country we’d lived in
that sun-dappled, banana breeding ground closer to Africa than Europe
which I would moan about and rant about to reluctant relatives
who told me “just come home”
and now I miss that platano-infested wasteland
of orange-gold hills clad in the sun’s rays
ugly, Arizona-esque but comforting all the same.
We left our flat and burned our bridges
and ripped out our relationship’s stitches
left your handy, hopeful car
tucked away behind a few bushes by the airport
and made a dash for it, a dash towards the unknown.
These bloody stumps may never heal
because I loved you and our life
and now I’ve broken the seal.
talking to my pillow. 