Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
...No

No.

Your breathing stops.
"Breathe!"
I remind you.

And now you're not here
it's this absence of breath
that reminds me.

And what wouldn't I give
for you to be here
asleep next to me
breathing heavily
or not
in my ear.

If you think of this word
you'll think of nothing
I've found

like watching the sky
through the car window
just to help stop feeling sick

if you think of this word
you'll think of nothing
I've found

when things
get just a little bit hot

The stabbing pain at my temples
forces my attention away
from the glaring light
of my computer screen

I let my thoughts wander,
subconsciously tasting
the sweet remains of chocolate
in my mouth.

A loud bang alerts me.
Then another.

I open my window
to listen for more.
Cold air rushes in,
replacing the warm,
thick air of my room.

Another succession of bangs,
accompanied by cries
from the birds that flock past,
silhouetted
against the city's light pollution.

The explosions continue,
and people in their gardens
ask 'What's that?',
gasp 'Oh my God!'
and hurry in.

Then it stops
and all I can hear is my heart
racing.
And for the first time this hour,
I begin to type.

She laid her head on the desk
and cried
another ocean between them.
This one hot
and contaminated
with the dregs of yesterday's make-up.

'Look everybody, look at his eye!'
I look, at his face,
his contrived, forlorn expression.
Yet the class sees only the bruising.

'We don't hurt each other like this,
do we?' She looks at me.
Fire clambers up my neck,
****** my chin and
gathers, finally,
in the ***** of my cheeks,
where it blazes.

The mouth-shaped bruise
on my arm tingles,
teeth marks still ******.
I roll down my sleeve,
too proud
to be considered a grass.

Later, she wants to talk,
but I can't for crying.
And I hate when she tells me,
'Just don't do it again.'

The scent of wild garlic plumps the air
in the narrow, deep valley of the brook.
The oak trees either side
reach across, clasping hands,
trapping the heat and the smell.

A trout ***** up stream,
jumping the shallow current.
Crouching on the pebble beach,
two children watch it land,
plunk,
in the depths further up.

'Fish! That's what we need, fish!'
He blunders up the river,
hands outstretched,
as though to catch the trout in his palms.

Deepening the rock pool,
scuds scurrying out of sight,
the girl notices the thin, black water slug
stretched out on her chalky forearm.

Pincering it off with her fingers,
she doesn't scream until
spotting the ****** mark,
as the leech reaches up
to wrap itself round her finger.

With a flick of her wrist,
it splacks onto a dry, flat rock.
She crushes its body with a pebble,
and the smell of iron mingles with the garlic.