Lovely unpretentious silhouette
all bruised under dusklight.
You've got a laugh like
Honey-gold
spilling into
cracks in the pavement
I could walk you back
to the station.

Don't rush this, fool
Box this ((something)) up in it's
corners.

Keep those
Five centimetres between our fingers.
Inevitable distance.
I'll worship you behind
bulletproof glass.
Not yet, not yet

We love in fractions,
dripping into our hearts until it
spills over.

We used to take turns tearing down
each other's defences
like the last Christmas present or
an exit in a building fire
And when there was nothing
useful about our bodies except how
they fit against each other.

There are soldiers that don't deteriorate facing
bombshells and fire-grenades but
birthday parties and Saturday nights by the telly.
We could be two of them

Remember how you got when you
just needed something to
hurt
I was your push-pin doll.
Like how children
gouge the button-eyes and rip
the stuffing out of their teddy bears
(but still fall asleep holding them closer than
their absentee parents)

The truth is once,
I would have worn your bruises like
a necklace.

These days, I offer my heart up
on a platter and you don't even want
to spit on it.

All I can do now is will
my fingers to write poetry,
too cowardly
to even pick up the
phone.