As I stare at you staring back at me
from my desktop background
I begin to realize
that closure is far from found.
If Da Vinci were a graphic designer
you would be his Mona Lisa.
With a smile harder to read
as it barely reach the eyes, you'll beat her.
Before I travelled thirteen hours
to be with you for just five
it somehow didn't
cross my pathetic mind
that there was no we
that you were never mine
and that I've done the ****** math wrong
for the umpteenth time.
You're a fortune cookie
empty inside
I'm blindly superstitious
and cannot stop trying.
It's skepticaly obvious
I'm most definitely just a friend,
what you are though
is simply impossible to apprehend.
Your image is like a paper cut
shallow yet agonizing
lurking in my sub-conscience
painfully reminding
how even after all these years
I'm shamefully prone to deceive
and keep sticking the broken pieces
of my heart back on my sleeve.
Like a nicotine rush at midnight
I crave you, I'm an addict,
but it's dark and cold, and all the shops are closed,
I'm left frustrated and feeling tricked.
However, amidst last evening's drunken frenzy
my hypothesis was proven untrue,
for I do not regret
kissing you...

Like the tide,
you, will, rise and fall, impossible to hold on to.
Just as a pattern emerges
your personality synchronises with the British weather.
Like a long summer evening in Shanghai you are warm and bright,
carefree as an afternoon breeze.
Making me smile, laugh, blush
such a tease.
Car rides into the sunset with
the windows down and the music up
sharing cigarettes.
But as you pull those dark shades over your eyes and soul
the rain begins to pour
the intimacy washes away
trust astray
several steps apart
from the inch we grew closer yesterday.
Laid back, insecure, self-centred, unreliable,
unstable, restless and emotinally unavailable
yet somehow charmingly mystic
surprisingly dashing
talented and well bred
unattainably captivating
naively helpless
shy
thus I cannot pin point why
I am drawn.
I regret not kissing you
and know I would still have
if I did...

W** hen you eventually turn up
r omance and
o ptimism would be
n onextant; long
g one.

When you looked me straight in the eye and said,
'The other night you were so drunk I thought,
"man, I could totally take advantage of her."
Could've gotten straight into your pants',
I was shocked.
I had been right all along.
All those times your eyes danced in amusement
whilst you forced your mouth to stop twitching
I already knew what was going through your mind.
But tonight thanks to half a dozen pints
you've said it all and there is no turning back.
I was shocked,
by my reaction, my immediate reply,
"so why didn't you?"
though not spoken out loud,
was clearly heard in my seductive smile.
When you put one arm around me forcing me into a hug
and tried to kiss me on the lips
I moved away.
When you grasped my wrists with your hands and pinned me down
leaving bruises in the shape of your fingers
I threatened to bite you.
When you squeezed the back of my neck with one hand
just to prove how big your palm was
I struggled to break free.
Reactions which felt were called for.
Reactions which were expected and appropriate.
But,
part of me, **** that, all of me,
enjoyed the sensation
of that feeling of helplessness
as you slowly overpowered me
the playful manhandling
the alien sense of control and authority.
Even hours later
I'm stroking the bruises on my wrists wistfully.
The back of my neck is tingling whilst reminiscing.
A part of my soul darker than your skin has been unveiled
and I'm shocked.
I would like you to do all that to me again
one on one
in an empty place
and I think I will enjoy the gentle pain.

Hey there (if you're there at all),
I sincerely hope all is well.
Guess you're really swamped with work,
honestly no need to explain, I could just tell.
See the thing is... the thing is, there is actually a thing.
Something has come up.
It's quite hard to explain cause I don't yet know what we are,
so if we are kind of a 'thing', then I want to breakup.
You don't write to me any more
and I really miss those emails
witty comments, sarcasm and ******* banter
strung together with immaculate grammar and ample clichés.
You seem to have forgotten that I didn't fall for you back then
and very little had changed since.
So three years later when you contacted me out of the blue
I was hardly convinced.
As a preplanned holiday got in our way
placing you 5 hours behind and 5000 miles apart
it was that daily email exchange over a month
which gave whatever it is we have now, its start
not calls, not facebook nor skype,
just words, simple phrases and our ability to type.
Essence of your raw personality seeped through
enticing me to a very pure, untampered version of you.
Since I returned, since we met, things haven't been the same.
Are you trying to gain the upper hand of this game?
Because, I wasn't even aware we were playing,
so technically neither can win, such a shame.
I appreciate your intellect, ambition, success
and middle class upbringing,
those random gestures of affection
and passionate *******.
I understand your commitments
and the hierarchy of your priority que
But just because I get it
doesn't mean I'll agree to put up with them too.
It's true, my future is rather blurry
but that's a different thing.
I might be chronically needy
but I'm not asking you for a ring.
I do however fancy flowers
and would really like to go dancing
a daily doze of 'you're thinking of me'
topped with very large amounts of cuddling.
If all I wanted was to get laid,
there was plenty of opportunity to be swayed.
Time to end this hand has come a little too late
with a Royal Flush in Spades.
I will miss those endearing emails,
and the 12th floor of your office with its magnificent view.
I will miss the idea of having a man in my life,
but I won't so much miss you.

Doing dishes today felt different
cause there was two of everything.
Two mugs into three,
we must really like tea.
Two big plates and little plates
and half of a left over cheesecake.
The roast from last night that I just ate
didn't have the same taste.
The extra towel drying on the rack
is triggering an irritating flashback.
Even with the windows shut and the radiator on
it doesn't feel warm.
Too much space in the bed...
enough said!
I don't so much miss you
but more the concept of you.
Just had a cigarette
and wrote this poem too.
The usual drill
you haven't replied to my text, still.
"Am I in?", you asked.
Not yet, I feel.

The moment that cold breeze snuck up on me at Euston,
as I stood on the right side of the escalator blissfully unaware,
and playfully ruffled my dangerously short dress,
is when I must have caught the scandalousness in the air.
The specks of Spring light appearing somewhat bright,
played tricks on my mind, rather late that night.
Arms linked as the stride casually synchronized,
while the start of the weekend brought the weary streets to life.
Thighs met over two Chai Lattes in the corner of a little Cafe,
as his aftershave wrestled Cinnamon into a subtle yet alluring foreplay.
The world went by completely unaware, as we
gallivanted down memory lane in search of a future under a sycamore tree.
If only the heart could be locked away in the Tower of London,
safely among fragile jewels coerced from Sunny lands.
Instead, the unfinished kiss in Leicester Square,
has confounded it to pursue a far more adventurous plan.