Shady dreams

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.

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.


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


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.