Accidental Lips

I pretended
To catch you
Like it was all a game.
That’s how we ended up here
On the floor.
Now you’re staring at the ceiling
And I’m watching you
Mouth words
I know you won’t speak
To me
Because your lips
(Our lips)
Just screamed together.
But going on who
And what
You are
They shouldn’t have.

We shouldn’t have.

And we won’t again.

A Blind Affair

They say she took a lover
Last Tuesday.
It was a grand affair
Full of momentary lapses
And ulcerations.
Permanently blind parts
Got worse
Raw
From all the want.
The trouble with dancing
With your own devils
Is that they know
How to abate
And arouse
Tempt you for more.

That which knows
How best to hurt
Has stripped us bare before

Don’t Talk

You say
“So and so and so and so,
and so and so and so,
and so and so.”

Now breathe.
And listen,
To world-links
And deeper thinks,
To fever rides
Of Art brides.

Then say
Nothing,
Until your
Innocuous
White Noise
Ceases
And is replaced
With thought
And filter.
Compassion
And cause.

The meantime silence
Will be a joy
For all of us.

So please,
Don’t talk.

The Seven

There are seven people in this head
Of mine
Waiting at a panel
With placards of who they are;

She with the cat skin
And wicked ways
Is called ‘Fervour’
(And she’ll kill you twice with words)

He with the monkey nose
And crooked teeth
Is ‘Estaf’
(He’ll get away with it all)

She with the pencil hair
And tilted glasses
Is ‘Belaina’
(she’s scared of you and everything)

He with the deciphering vision
And long, straw legs
Is called ‘Thak’
(He pretends to know the poets)

She with eleven cats and reasons
To float away from it all
Is ‘Erema’
(She sleep walks in Atlantis)

She with the sewn-up lips
And hollow face
Is ‘Kalma’
(She decays from a past she’ll never let go of)

It with a mind of turnstiles
Useless information and imagery, lost
Has no name
(A wisp which exists when knowledge solidifies)

Every night we battle
There is rarely a conclusion
And I am left instead
With a head full of blood
And a name that isn’t mine

The Haunted Space

The space between us is haunted.
A spectre of the present’s heart
Looms like a heavy vessel sinking.
The souls on board are desperate.
The captain stands within the chaos,
“I’ll go down with the ship!” He cries,
As if to remind himself why
He chooses to grip the mast so tight.
Our ocean is fast suffocating our swimmers.
Our pull is dragging everything under.
The ghostly galleon re-enacts its demise
Every night
In this haunted space
Between us

Rib Waves and Negative Space

He traces her rippling spine
Pressing against the whisper-thin bareflesh of her back.
Leaning over the end of the bed
Her toes trail in the open sea of the carpet.
She doesn’t move from his touch.
His fingertip runs across the undulating waves of her ribs
Waves without current,
Inhaling pulls her skin taught,
For just a moment.
He likes that moment.
In that moment she is alive.
He wants to bottle up his own energy and feed it to her intravenously.
Even with her back to him he can feel her
Within her body,
Humming,
Somewhere far off,
But still there.
He slides his fingers into the gaps of her breathing bones
Transferring warmth to her naked body
By way of filling negative space
Making sure she knows
She mustn’t leave
Not completely
Not yet
Not at all

Please stay,
I’ll wait
For as long as you need.
I swear