love, the ultimate expense.

in reviewing my statement in the value of memory and regret. loss, lying and this incessant lying down. the torture of wonder of other of her, that & before. numbers couldn't explore this debt with any equation other than patience and those letters devour the tables of multiplication in the repetitive puddles I sat and sipped from, in desperate bowls.
my same mouth, changing shape, the geometry of lips, count my teeth, thighs against cheeks, finding sides, counting down heart beats. press rewind, press my split. divide belief and get the meaning of y I do this to myself. no, love is not free. it is the disease in which I've married & will spend my entire life in debt.

you are the echo in places after everyone's sound has gone.

you are the reluctant resonance in air between breaths.

you are the leaving that's overstayed its welcome.

you are the racket in deprivation of company.

you are the uproar after music has ceased.

you are the chord eternally reappearing.

you are reverberations of want, of lack.

you are sweet tinnitus in every hush.

you are every absent reoccurrence.

you are epitomes of entirety.

your gale still lingers.

but you do not.

you do not.

you do.

not.

That day of goodbye
I broke glass into little slithers
that now still swim beneath my skin,
such beautiful glass reflections
sending each of the seven colours away.

You were excited;
I couldn't look into
those finite eyes of yours as
your skin touched mine
for the last time.

The day I said that last goodbye
boiled the water from dry eyes
and now burnt blood vessels beat on
despite the fact that my heart has gone.

I do not care if
you do not love me,
for I have stored all the colours and
traced the secrets of your steps.

Your arm around my shoulder
is the first moment of the first sunrise
radiance caressing frozen webs of spider silk,
silver glory emanating golden dew.

I know no other way but
nor do I want for more, only to will
you stay; hang suspended on
backdrops of my blackest night.

So I do not care if
you do not love me;
I treasure that weakness enough
for the both of us.

Helen's hair
hangs dampened
by the rain

as we wait
underneath
the hawning

of a shop
on the way
home from school

her thick lens
spectacles
are smeary

so I can't
see her eyes
will it stop?

she asks me
I hope so
I reply

don't fancy
standing here
till bedtime

I look up
at the sky
grey and black

rain falling
I'm all wet
she mutters

even my
socks are damp
in my shoes

let's run then
I tell her
so we run

through the rain
splashing through
deep puddles

on pavements
she clutching
my wet hand

semi-blind
in her smeared
spectacles

rushing past
the shop fronts
our passing

reflections
in windows
quite ghostly

as in dreams
thunder claps
above us

from the sky
and Helen
loudly screams.