I would like
to come back
find the shadow of before.
Like a precise paradigm
I’d like
to recite you infinite times
then
sit beside you
and make up
infinite exceptions to the rule.

From afar, you don’t look at me
you don’t speak to me
can you see I’m present?
I am no longer your past.
In my mind
I cling to the warmth of your ribs
two innocent bodies laid next to each other
as silent as corpses
but I swear,
as loquacious as an enamoured teacher.

I miss you.

You know,
I would travel
with you
and a bunch of people
to Japan
and lay next to you
on a small futon
that’s all ours

but I gave you one petal from a blossoming cherry-tree
and you asked me
why I did not tear two from a red rose.

My heart
is an empty room
which you’ve just walked in.
Quickly
you drown into shame,
you,
so far so sure
that you would find much more than this behind my ribs
– all the thoughts, all the words
you wish I’d kept on me
and in a pond of remorse –

but most surprisingly
at a careful look
you’ll find
within these walls
all pulsing, and beating
you are
just on your own.

Am I running out of time?
whilst you speak
my eyes are rolling – yours are steady.

I can’t listen to your words
I enumerate your breaths
in my mind
I draw your face’s shape.

I am running out of time

Rain won’t fall
the ground’s grey in this pine grove
because evergreens
jealous
hold back all their needles.  

Not a single drop
my troubled face is dry
as my sight
barely
holds back all its tears

it’s saving all of them
for the moment you’ll be back.

At 5am
on a Monday morning
Sloane Street is just an empty vessel
no one’s walking
no one’s looking
at the the nicely sewn designer clothes.
I’m home at 5.45
delighted by the sight of darkness
the sun’s not out just yet.
On a Monday morning
my heart’s an empty vessel
no one’s walking
no one’s looking.