let's make a house
of lamps and sheets
and our awkwardness
to spend an afternoon in.
the world —
a swirly mess
of dust and blue
can go on without us.
in orange-yellow light
i can see a life in your eyes
flickering like bonfire,
like an evening sun,
like hope.
heavy footsteps,
broken glass —
the flat around us
is of the monsters
that we have been running from.
but
here under sheets
we are home.
so we lie down
pretend we aren't afraid.
you play The Beatles —
Michelle, on a CD player
and i tell you about
a happy story from life.
something about sour candy
and a rainy day.
it's surprising how
comforting the ordinary is.
coming out
of small-talk
we talk about how
we hate it.
that old photo of you
standing next to your sister,
from when you were 5
is hilarious.
i can't believe
how uneven your
dad cut your hair.
older now,
we are still uneven
in other ways. other
good and bad ways.
"you know anxiety too?
oh, i know her. she's
lovely most of the time."
we talk about the smell
of fresh bread. soft,
cream coloured.
you need a new toothbrush.
i need new glasses.
there is still room to
discuss existentialism
in a universe of
combusting galaxies.
turning to me —
a part of your face
lit in the golden
lamplight,
you ask me
to be honest.
absolutely honest.
there is a tear
in the sheets,
and outside
it's getting louder.
you're waiting for
an answer.
i hesitate
as the monsters
find us —
"let yourself be
till you need to be."
a light goes out.
you're still smiling.