You, Me, Next Week

Below me, beyond clouds
a four-day morning
we’ll sleep
and we will wake

Those hours, I’ll be humming
my toes on the edge
the blanket
the mist out the window

Your profile
a Roman myth
soft as you hand me the mug
smile like a grey, soft sky

To open and breathe
black, hot, bitter
the music pours out like wine
and you,

You
resonate on my tongue.

A Wave

A shell lies waiting
beaming in a ray of light
(my hand)

We lie in a hot room
smiling around the curl
of the shell

Bright blue, a day away
and a dream
falling

In the thick of the last night
I sang to the shell
the melody ran in a wink

Trailed off into the heaving sea
there’s no more
and I’m on a plane

And suddenly what I had is gone
disappeared
(a wave)

Divisions


dividing orange-yellow days
finite as ever before
fixing glasses on a tuesday
to the tea I hold today, on a wednesday
 
staying immaculate with purple lips on a night
frustration over dinner just a wisp
in the wind of the moon upstairs
and perfume spilling as water, your breath
 
though
I spoke of nothing yesterday
each minute a metal rod
collected around our feet
far from made-up cobwebs in the shop
 
sitting downstairs in the library
a face in a stripe of light
and a woman in pink outside
carrying the skeleton of a forgotten animal
 
the frowning building next-door
a wish and a hope
encased soft in white bread
suffocating silent in plastic tears
 
but enough nonsense now
for this year is better
and the leaves we hold onto
as they fall of their own accord
 
glimmering shadows
past the paint of
your fresh cream door

Pick-up Line

Drop your bag and run to me

 

I’ll feed you alcoholic sympathy

 

I’ll kiss your cheeks, I’ll stroke your hair

 

then walk out the door, and fall asleep.

Pub night


There’s that couple
I watch flatly, an ugly slice of lemon hanging from my lip
 
A smart purple tie next to me
gesticulating into his beer
 
That song from a dream
gurgling softly in my head
 
A man laughs too loud,
Slaps his knee after every plump silence
 
The pub atmosphere is hollow
and brown
 
On the cover it’s all smiles
Inside it’s grubby ice
 
Walking out I say thanks to the wall
giving up to the night.

Photo-frame

She sat crying into her hands
in France
 
Wishing to be drunk
in dusk
 
Someone’s veranda faraway
in Australia
 
Spoken cackles
beer-stained lawn
 
Not the ego,
the embroidered façades
 
She got up just to spill her red wine.

I prefer red

I prefer red

to crumbs on the table that nobody sees

drinking, they don’t notice the pictures on the wall

or worse

The stars falling at 5pm

in the eyes of strangers outside.