The page was blank until I wrote this,
that, then, now.

All time is passing,
this thing we are party to is everlasting
and our bodies grow old.

I will not let this poem go
I could just let it grow and grow
and never develop it.

The word develop makes me think of the womb
and camera film.
A poem is an egg, fertilise it with your vision,
photograph it with your eye.

Every word releases image after image,
fireworks form a question mark in a dark sky,
synapses snap like fruition,
my apples smother the ground, waiting to rot.

I can’t remember anything that has happened to me clearly                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                
let alone to the world.
Is anyone ever sure that anything really happened?

And the tea is too hot and the toast is too cold,
dreams of intermingling sips of tea and
bites of toast crust, turn to dust on my lips
and it is time to go to work.

I tried to throw the phone on the bed,
but threw the glass instead,
sprinkling ***** and fanta fruit twist like holy water,
This is where I hurl my head
and wake, and wake, and wake.
Crust seals the eye like a crypt.
Dreamscape duvet: paint your colours,
Phantasmagorical shadows sweep the brow,
walls blend blurred images,
dream friends pass like flocks of birds faceless in flight.
I could ask you what it’s like to be a character in my dream,
make it all about me or you could tell me I’m a character in yours.
Shatter my reality,
tell me I’m your worst nightmare.

From corner of eye’s mind the luminescence of lamplight spills.
A startled stumbling, a fumbling with covers out of worlds and into new ones.

“It was after I’d been *****
that my cat died” you said.
We laughed.

Why did we laugh?
We made tea
hoping to find the answer in each
sip.
But all I could detect was
sour milk and a lack of
sugar.
(I clanged the spoon onto the mug
to make musical tea
thinking it might cheer you up).

Someone’s been laying in
to my cheesy thins
and I have no biscuits
to offer.

My darling blue eyed Russian boy
who is not Russian.
Your breath icy cold in the night’s air,
floating between us spiralling upwards like
smoke.
I kiss your eyes
wanting you later to caress my thighs
and run your fingernails down my back.
I squirm into you, you press into me,

Loved up, drugged up .

You brought me gloves
I brought you socks

Together we huddled by the fire
seeking warmth, there was
none.
Every star visible
your soft skin next to mine.

Nothing beats
hearing your heart
beat.