*we were speeding on 'e'
in dastardly overused lexemes
i used to forget, ending
peachy words with
'jolie' (or 'moche').
write: meta-cognition.
he writes lines and
chisels octaves onto my
skin, dough, bones and lacquers,
he says they are the only places
where mad love-notes would fit
without the keys.
the bed has turned bipolar,
diagnosed with isochronous stability.
we sleep in half-cut apples
held up by sombre scissors.
he imbibes couplets
from strophe tea-cups,
he leaves me hungover
in stanza trains.
he says that i am
the last pen he has and
if i were to stop dreaming,
the poet would be dead.*
write: writhe, wither.