London is a name fixed in the yellow of a post-it
Thinking of Thames pushes the gaze
Somewhere else
In my case to the left, upwards
Acting cool
It’s where I stretch my fingers, where I
Hang on to the linen
[Of memories]

London is my ear lobe that keeps bleeding
Cotton wool pressed by my fingers and
The smell of lime in this room
Tracks of piercings I have never seen
The trail of a scar for you to lick

Of London thinks
My hair that is much too long
London is “Tell me about London that you can’t explain”
And “no more queue to know about Jack?”
A worn out pendant that makes my teeth chatter
But I stand still, you say:
“To a spirit like yours”

Then London
Is squares too narrow
You and I walking, I kissing you
And “I can’t keep you inside here anymore”
And “Maybe I know why I’m so sad”
And “What is that you fear?”
I fear
Of wishing

So if I am London, you
Are Piccadilly and Soho glimpsed from a postcard
The blazing colors, grey prevailing
Rain varnishing the double-deckers
I, saying: “When I’m with you, snow is all around”
“Is it a bad thing?”
“No, it’s not”

And again London catches me sighing
I always hear doors closing
I still feel throats slashed
And “I feel my things are mute on the ground”
And you say: “How small can you be?”
As the doll
Of a doll