‘are you lonely?’
my reflection asks, her fingertips touching mine. ‘no,’ i smile ‘i have you.’
maybe my own company isn’t so bad after all.
i see you, grave burrower,
from across the churchyard. pointed ears, alert - afraid? can you hear me breathing? i know, grave burrower, i know where you hide. you hide under cracked stones where decaying bodies lie. i see your nose twitch, grave burrower, can you smell the death? your garden is bountiful, grave burrower, it’s a beauty to behold. how did you get it so beautiful - are their roots cradled by bones? i wonder if you see them, grave burrower, smell them, feel them; the spirits of the buried. do you know something about death that we don’t? i know you see me, grave burrower, from across the churchyard. your wide eyes see in every direction. can you see me staring?
fingertips tapping upon
translucent glass. blurred skin on the opposite side, pink, pressed up blotches of arm and leg, lip and ear, hair and head. alone on the other side, lack of colour and lack of light. watch them through the see-through wall, just the swing of a bunched up fist could break the fall. the fall of light within the room, the dim sound of laughter from the other side, the lack of voice that resides on this side. waiting is silent, solitary in a cell of glass confinement. an hour, another, more time slips past, when the room gets darker so does the glass.
when we are finally under covers,
feel my chest rising and sinking into you. i miss your touch though i’ve never felt it. touch me all you please; steam up my brain till i collapse into you. under the covers it is warm. its where i imagine you - holding me close passing your strange fingers through my hair, prising my heart out of its place.
sometimes wish my skull was hollow,
sometimes i think it is. brain replaced with pansies, flourishing from liquid dreams. face blank; staring into unfocused air. cursed with a sleeping brain, blessed with its craftsmanship. memories caught on tape. scenarios rolling smoothly; every moment, invoked upon personally. worries creep in like Japanese knotweed - can’t ever get rid of it all. most of all, thoughts like shattered glass make me bleed from unusual places. sometimes wish my skull was hollow, sometimes i think it is. feel like i exist more in my head than i do here.
wish the waves
moved like your mouth; speaks to me like the crash of water upon the shore. drunk on you like water to wine and i watch your words form in the waves.