Do you ******* miss me
Or
Do you miss ******* me?

The evening is bathed in red
wine. Her touch complimented
by a hearty meal.  

Under an avalanche of years
lie dazed memories
perfectly frozen.

I walk between mountains,
their stone-faces
giving me the cold shoulder.

I have come to love
these walls. Though beautiful
I am still entrapped.

The stars. I know the stars.
Orion blandly glitters
without your presence.

I once read
that indifference was the least I had to dread.
But if you my dear  

Played out my fear
And treated me without hate
or love. I think I’d stay

Between those which
separate
Us.

I’m a hunter.
My eyes locked on
you.
Precision.
Gentle contact, a coy smile.
Unoblivious of your desired stares.
The manufactured
moments you believe are real.
That look and I know you’re
Mine.
Part of me
believes you’re the
one.
That I’ll finally fall,
head first over heels.
Then we kiss and it’s gone.
Then it gets hotter and I resent you.
I’m a hunter.
An apex predator.
Your hatred wounds me but I’ll take your heart as my reward.
My bleeding trophy.
I wish
it wasn’t like this.
I wish
I could consume
all of you
Or none of you.  
But love is oh so bitter
And the chase is oh so sweet.

I cut
the purple thread.
The one you wrapped around my wrist.
All that while ago.
And now I’ve untied myself there are
No more strings attached.

How long will I lie
awake? Mouth shut. Eyes open.
When was I left here?

I broke
a mirror, when we first met.
Our guilty reflections
fragmented
as we stared into the shards.

Barely a decade old,
but in my eyes you’d never be a perfect ten.
Back then you were
A pigtail pulling, cootie carrying boy,
A pigtail pulling, cootie carrying friend.

Two years passed then we were
split apart. Like crevices
between
reflective pieces. Another five and I saw
You.
In a mirror now fixed. Your reflection
the same, different.

Seven years. Spent growing up
apart. Yet growing closer.
Now
when you grab me, my hair. I scream
for the right reasons .
And holding hands isn’t just for
arm wrestling.

Shards of bad luck are swept up
into a metaphorical dustbin.

A bullet whistles past
a polish jew.
He escapes
his hostile habitat
and disguises his name.

A woman faints at the gore
of her future career.
As she falls,
a handsome figure catches her eye
along with her body.

So close
yet almost so far.
Strange how so many
near misses
lead to entire existences.

He was spring.
Morning dew which glazed my mind,
Faint sunlight that broke
through grey Mondays
But I was left bleating while my
April showered.

Then Summer,
Her hot ‘n’ heavy freedom.
Intoxicating afternoons caused dehydration,
or over-hydration.
A midsummer night turned a lonely August
spent recovering from heat’s stroke.

Autumn eyed
and jack’o’lantern smiled. An attraction
from a dad-designed haunted house.
Motorcycle-wielding and leather-clad.
I now know that ******’s not just a movie,
and how to deal with Hitch-*****.

Ice unthawed
Through the sprunging of spring.
An impossibly unmelted slushy.
A waterlogged log unburnt by Fawkes’ Fire.
Am I winter because they’re gone? Or.
Are they gone because I’m winter?

A child with her Lego House
I thought we were built to
last.

Flimsy foundations always lead
to a crash, crush or
end.

I know now what I learnt then,
I will never rebuild what I
had.

But.


I can use the knowledge and pieces left
to create something entirely
new.

I wander
and I wonder

Until highstreets
are my home.

I wonder
and I wander  

Until there’s no
concrete to roam.

I wander
and I wonder

Until street lamps
by my bed,
Become the tunnel light
My future holds instead.

I wonder
and I wander

When facing all the faces,
that you don’t know that you know,
When finding new escapes,
You escaped to long ago,
When you’ve moved a hundred miles,
By walking to and fro  
When the whole town is your home,
It’s time to find a new abode.

Acne covered confidence,
Lanky limbs with titanium teeth.
The bus to a childish nowhere
With bunk beds and broken boilers.
Eyes caught mid-gaze.
Stained cheeks at relentless hopes
For Venus’ First Blossoms
through drab and dreary.

Midnight, Midday
Midclass Messages.
Monday morning discussions
Of missed moments.
Friday evening’s unwatched films,
White cotton on carpet,
Midnight’s kisses stain a pure canvas.
Transparent lies to Auld Lang Onlookers.  

Four months of fading.
New experiences become shameful secrets,
Salted cheeks replace antique shrieks,
Misplaced passion posseses green eyes.
Never the last.
Sparks may cause forest fires,
But nothing compares
To the first burn.