as you came crumpling down the stairs with your shopping bag and
a dog bed and your t-shirt tucked into your tracksuit bottoms,
pulled halfway up one of your legs, looking homeless
having drank too much again. Oh yesterday
hurts everywhere but it's too soon
to say exactly what
the full extent of the damage is. Until
the music stops: it was you.
I spilled the gin on the laptop.
my head on your knee. Would the laptop still have
if it had have been Coke? Or just the tonic? Or
if she hadn’t have been filming.
Soporific. Not exactly. I awake from the anaesthetic
feeling fixed in a way like I never needed it.
The graze was always there. Since I was 13 years old, my friends
my friends laughed to a different track 2 me, chatted
on MSN * insert emoji *, watched Father Ted, German classes. Holly
watched Father Ted.
I watched the L Word. Alone, moth-like. My life
is nothing like Vancouver, LA, whatever,
and all I aspire to is finding a lover
who can swear
like Bette Porter.
I'm a little bit Tina: passive. Take me-
if I'm ever a mother I'll teach
my babe how
to ask for the moon.
Tangerine tobacco smog sounds beautiful- I
exhale and the sky clears:
beneath, I lie, tobacco tongue tangy dragging the taste of him along
the roof of my mouth; last night,
The reality drips down the windows, sour as a dairy. Turning I
scrape the scent nose down
hundreds of ants,
I kneel before
all my gold
lined up against the wall. Bright
sweat is exactly like what it sounds and
I smell grey like chewing gum hiding under the table.
My phone flashes AND AND AND because it's
always silent. Not even tea -
or the tangerine yoghurt
sweating on the desk - can save me. You kissed no one
you love last night.
Recently written about sometime 10 years ago and before that. But it's all the same if I'm thinking about it now. Who says time is linear huh.