Sta.sh
--
of course i'm systematic;
pistons ready
of course, i'm irreverent,
spontaneous, inconsoleable.
erratic
like the strobing
of the day between
the trees and your
goingtoofast shoes.
how we purr in the morning
tasting the morning dew
between these sheets,
devouring the dawn. like
a fine engine, like a fine
under the bonnet, like a
fine, just fine, just
fucking fine. eggs,
bacon, sausages, hash
browns, toast, mushrooms
in a garlic sauce, grilled
tomatoes with parsley all
on a white plate, hollandaise.
excuse me, where is the bathroom?
of course i am a recluse, of
course i shout at you in a crowded
room
--
spread beneath me, a
dream of hydra, of
serpentine fingers caressing
your own
you are seemly. the door opens
the gate pulls back, the curtains
lift
up
--
don't go coming back with a helicon
don't go coming back with a furore
don't go coming back
don't go
--
i am glutted on the smell of you,
your dawns and your breakings of memory
onto the vanishing point of morning purples
your watching on my wrist
how it gathers and chokes my meagre bones
into a wince
how this noose inside my stomach
is not hunger for conventional
sustenance
and yet, how i fear the
precipate; the reciprocated,
the mirror
---
it is the fear in me, that sparkles
deep and casts itself into my eyes
like snow
in a snow-globe; like a static electricity shock
from the lino, on your shoulder, as we walked.
come to my place and we will trade words as
secrets no one in the whole entire universe
would ever know, because we promised.
it is a shadow of a passion that engulfs and
forget all about underwear as presents,
lipstick shades i have never needed. used
like a lamp shade, casting patterns on the walls
and harbouring brightness too bright
for the rooms we swirled around in but
you painted sequences of events on my skin
and told me all the things i had never even thought
about, apart from sarcastic misgivings
i'd throw at a screen. my pyjamas ceased
to exist when we shared foot warmth
and the same jar of mustard.
--
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