You saved me in your moms car the other day
holding my hand just in time to stop tears exploding out from my eyes. Because I'm very claustrophobic and I ******* hate small Hondas.

You let me hold you when we watched Steel Magnolias with your mom crying in the back saying Im sorry I walked in on your movie, I'm such a cryer.

We went into your room to listen to vinyl and even though it wasn't what I expected, I love it all.

You answered all my questions about things in your room, and showed me your best fiends angry poetry on your wall.

You answered every question as if every item was a priceless  antiquity, even the bottle of Mardi Gras beads and how you watched a documentary about the people in factories who made them, and how you just can't bring yourself to throw them away.

I don't even know if this is a poem but I'll put it up anyway. It may not be poetic but ever word that passes your lips it's Hemingway and Emerson to me.

Six a.m. and the morning leans
To kiss the night;
The streets are full of stars
And sleepwalking business suits

The citrus woman
With peroxide blonde hair
And peroxide blonde fingers
If she spoke I imagine it would sound
Like lemon trees and smoke
Her cigarette burns holes in the sky
But when she passes me by
She smells like the Boots Cosmetics Isle
She paints the yellowed-ivory
Of her finger-claws
With crystallised orange
To cover the nicotine stains
And maybe I think I recognise
My lemonade shampoo
And tangerine hand wash
Like a setting sun over Sicily

The beer can boy
With stuffed up hair
And a stuffed up liver
He’s grey like a November playground
Once all the children have grown
And he’s hole-punched right through
I might think he was heart-broken
And trying to see how many other lost souls
The bottoms of bottles hold
If he wasn’t here every morning
Lolling down the pavement
Like a spring stretched too far
Asking for a paper
That I’m not allowed to give
And trying to drown himself
In the pooled rain under the streetlights

The coat-and-cardie bundle
With wind-swept hair
And wind-swept grimace
Like a tornado tore up
The geography of her personality
And left it with just a bike and a death wish
And those features heaped together
Between chimney-tops and table tops
For consolation
Her feet on the pedals while her hair throttles
Because she’s unlit
Unseen, unprotected
And she rides like this morning is the last
As if she knows that skulls
Crack like eggshells sometimes
And handlebars are sometimes not in front of you.

If my Dad was here he’d see
A smoker
A drunk
A dangerous cyclist
But I see lemon zest and love hearts and black liquorish
After all I’m at home
Among these mistakes
That the morning hours make

and thinking about the road

the empty bottles that always seemed to multiply beneath my feet

You with your sunglasses and a button-up..

You always look good.

You let me control the radio

I’d try to put on something I think you would like

Your hand on my thigh..I place mine on top, look at you

and smile (sometimes you catch me)

your nails short, knuckles rough

I brush my index finger across your hand..

tracing each finger carefully

our fingers intertwine

the same way our legs form around each other

like the roots of trees, tangled within one another

while we lay

Faces close, fingers gently touching

I could stare into those eyes all day

Glossy, secret worlds I want to enter

Worlds which no longer welcome me

At least for now...

A bee with innards spilling
A lost tabby,
A blimp caught up in trees,
Tintern Abbey.

The gravestone of a lover,
A drowning ship,
An NHS delivery of
Fortisip.

A girl with alopecia and
Fungail nails,
A one legged pigeon,
Exploding whales.

Ivy choked churches,
Merlot tongues,
Parrots plucking feathers,
Marlboro lungs.

Girls locked up in attics,
*** toys.
Boys punching girls
And punching boys.

Babies crowning
Fussed about like kings.
Darlings,
You shall see such pretty things.

i notice how deeply
you pull a drag
on that cigarette
down
    to
       the depths
                  of your lungs
as if you're attempting to revive
every hope and dream
exhaling
to set them free
only to dissipate
in a cloud that warrants glares and distancing footsteps
i notice your eyes lift
up to the sky
darling-
don't expect a sign from heaven
when Marlboro
is your guardian angel

Rain falling
Like a long ago lover
I ran from
In favor of deeper
Grey earth valleys
And air dully filled
With the scent of
Warm wet concrete

If he was new
I'm an old, old soul

This one is another
Dripping face under an eave
I prefer to be
Where I can feel
Cool winter pain

"Mind if I?"

"I didn't know
You smoked."

"I don't."

But

Marlboro

Reminds me
Something of home.

Marlboro Menthols, Lights, or Milds
Cowboy-killers, cancer-sticks
Guilty pleasure, a necessary fix
Holding hands with coffee

You get that jolt
Or shall I say relief
Days become more bearable
Courtesy of these,

Alcohol as a 3rd dimension
Aiding in more than just sleep
Take a pull and fill the need
Clear your head for a quick second

Alcohol, caffeine, nicotine;
They’re all I need