All these years and I don’t think you would
Remember my name.
You struggled with it;
It didn’t fit quite right on your tongue,
A tongue accustomed to the ghost of another language.
But to me, of course,
Every word you spoke
Was gospel.
You’ve done something wicked to me.
No man may take my hand
Without a silent comparison made.
You were my very own Aengus,
And none may live up to that.

I shouldn’t still remember the curve of your waist.
I shouldn’t still long to hear my name on your lips
Again.
I shouldn’t still long to say yours
In the dead of night
When I can recognise by the rise and fall of your chest
That you aren’t yet asleep.

I shouldn’t still be stuck in this reverie.
But I am.
Of course I am.

My therapist told me
To make a *** of coffee or tea
When Anxiety acted up.
She said that just the sensation
Of a warm mug in my hands
Could work wonders.
This room is full of cold cups,
Littering every windowsill
And every dusty bookshelf.

There is a low sheet of fog in the field across the way
And I am reminded of that afternoon.
We all remember it, but we don’t speak of it.
I dug up the grass with my bare feet
Running full-fledged somewhere, nowhere.
The holes served as a reminder during the weeks to come.
I collapsed and beat the ground until my fists
Were bruised and I had frightened the birds away.
I screamed out a sob but made no sound,
And I prayed for the day to end
And for you to survive it.
I begged and pleaded under my breath
In a language I didn’t understand.
I stared at the blank sky until I sensed darkness,
And went back inside
To my bed and my photographs and a phone call.
That was the day that I ceased believing in God.

My cup runneth over with the most imperceptible despair.
A heart that weeps bitterly for itself,
For the futility and desperation of its existence:
To love, to love, to love,
For naught.

Churning and rattling within;
If only I could ***** up this feeling
To rid myself of it.
No, it grows steadily,
A sickness as deep as the Thames,
The banks of which he wanders
Aimlessly, searching the ripples
For life.

There is no way to drain love from oneself.
If I possessed the will, I would bleed myself dry.
There would be more relief there
Than in the insufferable nature of distance
And the anguish of flesh not kissed.

Three years disappear so quickly.
Just one thought can send my heart
Back to that day, back to that room
With the black curtains.
It races and I still don’t know why.
Your hands on my waist, my shoulders, my back.
Your lips so close but not close enough.
A cotton shirt reeking of cigarette smoke
And regret. (I’ve always hated smoking,
But I still wanted to breathe you in.)
There was something familiar
About the way you said my name.
I was a child, just a child,
And you were an animal
With a crooked grin and my love at your feet.
Three years,
And I still insist on making something
Out of nothing.

I can’t come crawling back
With the skinned-up knees of a child.
You are the bicycle I’ve forgotten how to ride.
Can’t you see how dangerous you’ve become?

My heart has grown too big for the space I’ve allotted it.
You take up too much room.
It thrashes and throbs against its cage,
Enraged, defeated, sobbing.

You’re always so far away from us.

I can’t drag myself away from this hell.
Fifteen years has worn my joints to dust.
The sea air stings.
I need summer grass and chamomile tea in the sunshine.
Can you give it to me?

Don’t let me take your hand.
Don’t let me kiss the nape of your neck, the curve of your lips.
Don’t let me fade into you.
I’ll never be wholly myself ever again.

He cradled my heart
Between the lines etched into his youthful palms;
It quivered
And he whispered lullabies to calm it’s ache.
He filled my lungs with the ocean separating us,
A slow, soothing suffocation.
Saltwater desiccated me from the inside out
Until I was perfectly preserved for him.

Five hours too late or
Five hours too early;
He wanted to take me for coffee
In the middle of the night.
I would have walked on water
To know his embrace.

I was a slave to his lilted tongue;
He was a slave to his blood’s desires.
He begged for the release of his own grip.

Like a gust of sea air,
He vanished as quickly as he had arrived
And relinquished his hold on me.