i stood in my new flat today
counting the spins the fan
made in its centre.
an americanism, too out of body
for me to keep an eye on.
what now?
but to wait till the inertion sickness
crawls its way from the soles up to oesophagus.

tilt back till back flat against the black flat floor.
(i hated that sentence but it needed some air.)
wondering if i can melt beneath the new money wood,
can i stand upside down,
ankles halo’d in my space and my head in the neighbours.

the hallway to the bedroom where he sleeps a little more soundly
now i’m out the bed,
dares me to leave him alone.
“you’ve clawed this distance out” i murmur back.
“i can trace it in the skirting boards.”

sitting up i go to close the window
and lock it, unlock it and smile at the little piece of freedom
i can’t ever give back.

the day still looks like
a face i cave into.
wrapped around my blankets
muscle tensed and supine.
unintentional soldier of loveloss -
urge through doubled pained glass
so bruised blackblue night rushes into
dilated irises.
mouth agape- the first rain
waters evergrowing stalactites
in an unused throat.

the night looks like
a body i once let into me.
unwrapped on a chair older than us
heart relaxed, all fours’d.
self-inflicted victim of infatuation -
let it reach through the hole of it
bulge out untouched light from
your core.
eyes covered - the last jet
of lust empties the room
of what you once knew
to be your soul.

This flesh
is not that flesh.
unmade men
taste like home.
i love like
buildaboyfriend.
is it a green flag that
rewriting my tinder bio
is the weeks lowlight?
im only worth as much as
he can stay inside me.
take a bite
from this carotid
drain all the unrestoreable shame.
that flesh
is not
this flesh.

sometimes all there isn’t ;
is us.
and that’s ok.