it felt strange sleeping in a place where you had existed for so long.
me lying there wondering how we had come so far from the time where
you loved me – and i staring up at the photo of you by the door feeling
like a stranger. an intruder staring into your blank eyes, finally
seeing a vision of hopelessness for the first time.
how sober time can make us…
unrecognisable you, staring down at me.
a glimpse of your past or my future – was i right to come?
Wind me up
Like a vine
Around you close.
Weave your limbs through me
And turn the sky a Technicolor grey.
Fill me with your milkshake–
So blue.
Sink like syrup into our gate
Break the lock, let no one in–
Climb into us
Our flat so warm
Our future now here
Our plans realized.
The other woman in your life has a sinister sense of humour.
Sometimes I lie awake at night and catch a glimpse of her making love to you as I sleep.
I travel to the other side of bed
Feeling sick that I can’t make you sweat like her. Your expression, dreamy and light
While I silently cry to an untitled track
That spells the story of my life…
The moonlight drips in.
How come I never heard this tune before?
I turn to wake you, yet you are cold and weak.
You–who think you, are stronger than I.
And I await you with a soaked towel for your head
and a kiss for a swollen tongue.
Love today
wait —
maybe tomorrow.
Tomorrow’s here —
then another gone
then
Love!
Yesterday…
yesterday’s Love,
far away
away from today
of all days
when I need it most.
Maybe tonight?
Tonight is gone —
as is my Love;
yesterday’s Love
so out of reach!
Trying to remember when
yesterday’s Love was
tomorrow’s…
If i could get back to
tomorrow
will i get my Love back?
Would tomorrow’s Love
from yesterday’s
be today’s?
Wait…
And then i wait —
and yet again wait.
And try to remember
to Love today –
catch Love today,
keep Love today,
hold Love today,
live Love today,
hope there is Love today!
That it doesn’t get lost
in yesterday
or in anticipation of tomorrow.
Wait…
you are my confetti of cherry blossoms
scattered about the pavement
adored and singularly delightful.
thoughts of you explode
during spring afternoons
like piñatas floating through the sky, wrapped in their papier-mâché of
hot air balloons filled with sprinkles.
you arrive on a saturday, tanned and beautiful
for my birthday
filled with wishes and wine
company, conversation
and kisses.
drunk butterfly 