It had been the longest summer of longing in my not so long life I had imagined how you would feel from our ever so innocent beginnings, I was in his car the late august air brushing stray hairs from behind my ear softly on to my cheeks the air like slow warm breaths with undertones of the promised september chill. In the space of forty five minutes I had counted fifteen red cars in the wing mirror. everything in this long wednesday seemed as futile as the war poems in the anthology with the sunset on the cover similarly filtered and dissected to try and extrapolate some kind of meaningless meaning to meaningly satisfy the means which I know full well I do not mean.

spit on molars

It was something my gran had said
and had always stuck with me
how she didn't care for love
and made it very clear
I just think she never knew it
a frail woman
whose dog preference was large
in order to exert authority
over an entity
more powerful than her own
she told me of how
she would push any man out of her bed
never sleeping a night in arms
yet here I am
clutching your body
tight to mine
in a hope we may
morph together like plastercine
the bed but a plinth
for us to lie
as people look upon our final form
and as you step
onto the train from the platform
our limbs form strings
as we are dismembered
like spit on molars

you step out first
towelling and looking back
at me as I still
stand in the poor excuse for a shower
our first in this old wooden framed building
seemingly
every minute spent under the lukewarm water
contributing to to its imminent collapse
I so wish it was only us
ever before
and
ever after
I hope your short memory
only serves to remember
exclusively
my hands
my touch
this love
ours and only
We step outside
it is always mid to late afternoon
but never quiet
being together solves most everything
when you take it away
do it slow
make it as if you were dying in your sleep
instead of your life
you have this picture
of our bodies
spilled over one another
your leg camel coloured
and mine magnolia
entwined
until the object created cannot be defined nor personified
I never thought it before
now it lingers heavy
like a summer smog
disallowing me from remembering who I am
I want to become acutely aware
of these days
which we let pass
all the while knowing they are golden
it is the knowing
and simultaneously letting them deteriorate
which leaves me in a strange limbo
wanting to encapsulate something
unbeknownst even to myself
looking into your eyes
framed with spider lashes
I want to hold
and hold
and hold
its like I cant be close enough
you are never close enough
it cant be voiced
shown
mimicked
performed
described
it is nothing
but felt
and that is all it can be