Long like December into January
by Emski
Gliding my finger over the cracked kitchen tile
Kettle, king of limescale
Waiting and forgetting
One foot in-front of the other
Travel like a skipping rock
The back of my neck burning
Singeing hairs of fever
Fluttering spine cremating
ashes spilling out of my ears.
It’s a citrus sun on a winter day
Frosted fence melting away in an animated motion,
Like butter over a pan
Bubbles on a thorn bush.