I kiss you as if to confirm you are here. With me. Not going anywhere.


To confirm your presence.


I kiss you as I kiss your hands, as I rub your hands, massaging them to make sure they are real. In disbelief, perhaps that it is your hand in mine and that I have the pleasure of holding it.


I run my fingers down your back, soft, your arms, sturdy. I clutch a wiry coil of hair, yours, in my fist.


I smooth your face. I kiss your face.


It is soft. It is safe. It is kind. It is right.

I always forget how big an impact a place can make  
arriving unknowingly
the hostel you never thought you'd miss
the people you didn't realise you loved
until you're back home
sitting on your bed
that same 7 year old bed
in a room where nothing has changed
and your parents say
"It's like nothing has changed"
but everything has
they filled something inside of you thats still full
and now you have to go back to the way things were
before them
and until the smells, laughter and midnight conversations have fully trickled out of you
you're miserable
because you miss that special place a whole lot

there was something unfair about the morning after

freshly showered, I arrived at the breakfast table
I was late
your friend talked loudly with my sister about rugby and I had
to sit on a stool because all the other chairs had been taken
you never looked up from your plate

this was the first time you made me feel
      small and ordinary
like it wouldn't have mattered if it was me or not
that my honest skin and wet hair
displeased
maybe
disappointed you

you,
the boy who usually restored self confidence
kept your eyes on the glass you were asked to pour for me
and never looked at my face
but passed the juice across the table still

I ate in silence in the laughing room
waiting
trying to steal your eyes and share a smile
but you never looked

and by lunch
our flame was out

we kiss until our lips get chapped
we laugh until our eyes well up
and we can't breath
we want to do crazy things like
tell each other how we feel
and say I love you
out loud
I'll give you myself on a plate and say
eat me
and you taste  
and say
that even though
I'm not fully cooked
or smoking hot
can turn cold with time
and my meat is tough
but mostly sweet
I'm his favourite dish
dessert doesn't go to the stomach it goes to the heart
and we kiss
until our arms get heavy
our clothes fall off
and we kiss
until our lips get chapped

are we *****
       or lonely
               or both

heavy air,
a body beside me,
it's face buried in a pillow, resting
the two of us like sprawled starfish
on a sea bed of blanket

here we lie, centered in our narrow room,
a room made bright by the single skylight above,
clouded  

the following forming the soundscape of this moment:
- Sam's breath, my breath
- a pair of bluebottles buzzing and bumping into the walls
- an itch every now and then of sunburned skin, a leg brushing itself against the sheets
- a distant Tristan singing songs to his daughter down in the kitchen

there is a bucket with sick in it
there is a ***** laundry pile
there is a red, sun cream stained bikini hanging on the door handle
there are two clean, white towels and
two holiday cameras: the first's film already finished, the second with a little yet to go

Maybe we'll go to the beach
Maybe we'll go to the town or discover
a new town or ride our bikes out again until we find somewhere just right

the day has so much promise and
I have so little I have to do
but lie here and be grateful for time

for what feels like  
the first time
(in a long time)
i’ve met someone

and  
everything’s exciting

it’s thrilling
exhilarating

      to just
        be myself
          around him

and
i want to do nice things for him

i want to take off his shoes
make him tea
i want to draw ****** drawings of him
with sharpies
on napkins at parties

and i long to bring him home
go on long walks alone
with him
i wish to
write songs in his name
give him my earphones
(when his break)

and
we’re an
unlikely pair

             and there’s
                    something
                        so infectious
                               about that

A blue morning on the 46a to Stillorgan.
I get emotional gliding past the little orange town house. I've passed it every day for two years but this time it feels different.

I can smell your walls and furniture.
Can taste the breakfast you'd surprise me with after a long night of dancing and love making.
Can feel your head on my shoulder as you hold me at the kitchen counter.

You kiss my stomach.

On our last morning, you had driven me to college. Me, eating nutella and banana toast and you watching the roads too carefully. You had just gotten your license. Fionn Regan played softly.

yes,
you can kiss
my rose petal eyelids
my stained cheeks
my humming neck
my willing waist
my burning skin
anywhere on
my restless body
but kiss my lips,
and I'll spend the
rest of my life
aching
grieving
searching for
your stinging tongue

  fate assured me
   we'd burn violently
    but ultimately suns die
     every flame grows tired
      every bulb will break
      every wick will drown  
     charred and regretful
    weary and worn out
   drained of energy
  choking for air
i'm not ready
to ignite
just yet

you know the look
the look
when you feel eyes on the side of your face
but you're not completely sure
so you turn
instantly catching them
looking
their addictive
ice blue eyes
staring
and then quickly they're gone
looking somewhere else
like the floor or  
out the window or
pretending to be deep in thought
but
you know that they've been looking
because you've caught them twice before