Then it slammed on your skin,
right in the kisser,
the leathery wallop
ski dd in g m a d l y t h r o u g h y o u r m o u t h .
Next came the blossoming pain,
a stinging ring
where the fist made contact
and you stagger back
in a muddled shock.

It was an accident;
I was getting into it,
thumping your left,
your right hand, fury
brewing inside me from somewhere
like a bonfire beside my heart.

I kiss you where it hurts,
the tingle of your stubble
rolls along my bottom lip.
What have I done?
Did I mean to leave
another burn on your face?
You don’t even blink,
a lingering black stare
and whisper with your eyes
what was that about then?

A chuckle skitters into the night.
Thought it was nothing
but now seems it’s something.

Let’s keep going.

It can be forgotten.

You jam the glove back over my wrist
and I’m ready again,
maybe, just a maybe,
hoping that I miss.

We died many times when we first met.
They’d say electric. You provided the shock.
I was in need of repairs,
a faulty motor with a clogged-up engine,
stumbling through life
like a Slinky
yawning its bones
down the stairs.

You played me well at first,
fingers on my body,
twiddled me back into tune.
We’d die again.
When we kissed
I tasted Malboro and Merlot.
I fell right into it,
you like a glossy new balloon,
a chaos of colour on my lips
left me spellbound.
We’d die again.
Then the moment would pop.
You’d be standing with a pin.

Met your parents.
They noddingly-approved between
gulps of Heineken,
but I knew we wouldn’t last.
It fell apart, of course.
Somebody ruined the jigsaw.
Started hurling snowballs
at each other, words like razors
shredding through the air.
We’d die again.

A slammed door, gone
to the corner-shop for milk
in a huff.
An eff-you blurting
out from the phone.
The shock had gone.
I think I’m dying again.

morning barney
next door
muffled eff-yous
fuzz through the walls
in the mirror
my eyes awash
with scrawny red streams
my head like a sack
of gravel

that night
we talk about London
I think of the hug I will give
the clumsiness
coursing through me
like treacle
my lungs congested
with strange capital air

the subject changes
your girlfriend
guts a packet
of salt and vinegar
and we laugh
between sips of my Coke
and your drink
a sickly yellow

I let the conversation
drizzle over me
in a shower of syllables
I know my words
are jumbled
splattered slipshod
as a toddler’s painting
but I toss them in
see if they gleam

first flutter of like
becomes lust becomes a love
Thursday is date night

the palladium
their fizzing potential leaves
a stitch in my gut

So you come from this place
and you're a person I've never met
so how come I can't get your face out of my head -

it lingers like a river of perfume
aromatic and brilliant and impossible to catch -

I can see fragments of moments
in a life blissfully unconscious of anyone
someone
myself
the wind winding through your hair
a coffee-cup you clutched one Monday
all there in blocks of colour -

a smile
static
radiant
something I've seen
but not seen -

I've come to accept this as normal
that gathering a stack of names that glitter like crystals
is perfectly fine
as long as nothing is done
as long as they stay names
as long as no ingredients are sprinkled in
because then people will talk
say freak or creep
and shriek at me -

you only give a hoot about looks
but it's just not true -

but maybe it's best
to avoid a blast of embarrassment
as a cannonball to the chest -

these days compliments are met by a frown
strangers stay strangers -

what is it about making friends that is so tricky
who cares if you’re blonde or brunette
foreign or not
make videos or sing or knit jumpers for fun
what’s wrong with a hello springing up now and then
if a personality shimmers
exudes warmth through a screen -

so no
I don’t know you
may never know you
but forgive me one day if I send a hi there
it’s platonic
it’s short
I hope it’s alright

He came over,
all blue eyes black jacket
dark boots.
I had my fingers in my hair
when he said hello,
twisting a strand
and standing open-mouthed.
Who are you
and where did you come from?
I didn’t say that.
He flung a smile my way,
I caught it like an excited puppy.
Then we had drinks,
just something out of a can,
cheap corner-shop crap.
He told me I smelt
of vanilla candles.
I told him he smelt
strongly of aftershave.
Don’t mind the dry skin he said.
Didn’t even notice that.
I was too busy biting my lip
like stereotypical girls
in stereotypical movies.
His palm went on my thigh.
I said not really it’s my time
you know what I mean?
He said what a shame.
So we drank and slept
and probably kissed,
I don’t remember.

This is no box of tricks
rather an ottoman swollen
with some daft curios

that you know little about
and I can’t control
like the tide leaking in

Here’s a sack
of silly cravings
boiling over

as a *** of hot coffee
feel the discomfiture
bloom inside my cheeks

Dreams glazed
in electric colour
hooked on fiction

every night
wishing for the lights
to blaze upon whoever you are

He stands up, moves towards
me. I anticipate the
hug I’m about to receive.

It doesn’t come and instead                                                          ­      
he picks up the remote. His huge                                      
body leans over me.                                                              ­        

He then goes                                                       
and sits back down. I stretch my legs,                                              
look up.                                                              ­              

All I get is a                                                      
quick glimpse. I’ve had enough
of this now.                                                             ­             

I move, rest my head on top                                                              ­
of his knee. He glances down                                                      
at my face.                                                            ­            

He pats my head                                                        
and I realise. His affection for me
remains after all.

I am looking
at my naked self

   you are looking
at it too

my milk-bottle skin
     wisps of hair buttered up
   to the wrist

this is one of those
   mortifyingly awkward
   situations

     like giving a presentation

standing all gangly

an unwrapped
   second-rate present

     that you didn’t really want

   my clothes are
a primary-coloured splash
     by my feet

     and I expect you to talk
  
to cease the blistering
silence in the room
   but you only nod

eyes on me

   slither your bra strap
down one arm

Tonight I met a boy with wild green eyes.
Tonight I met a boy.
Tonight I met a boy.

and I saw you.
And yes, you were good.
And yes, you can sing.
The paper hearts fluttered down
from somewhere,
snaffled by hands
before you sank from view.
Young things in shorts
wielding rainbow sticks
seats in front and I doubt
my indie record
is cooler than yours
but I saw the sparks,
circus tricks,
dancers popping
along the stage.
But now it is Wednesday,
a four-hour memory
that is sleepily blending
into delicious red.

I watch
     clumps of wet sand
snuggle between your toes,
     water cuddle our ankles
before running away
as if it’s done
something naughty.

     You launch a grey pebble
towards the scorched horizon,
lands with a ‘plop’,
     and another,
     a plump rock
goes ‘sploosh’,
guzzled up by a wave.

Next, with a finger
     you scrape our names
on the beach,
our temporary graffiti,
   squash your hands
into the surface
like we’re at the Walk of Fame.

I listen to the candy-*******
sound as you move,
    look back and count
    the footprints we’ve created,
know by morning
they’ll be gone,
like we were never here at all.

are holding hands.
I think
they think they are
in love,
in the eye
of a glorious storm,
with aisles of x’s
in text messages,
a wink that suggests
anywhere but here
is better.

The babies of
this century,
maked-up more
than the generation before,
flecks of snow
in a blizzard
of pimples and kisses,
condoms and phones.
There is no jealousy,
just a shift in the times,
a jolt in the system
of snotty noses and whispers.

They look happy, at least.
Love, or something like it,
a blossom in their lungs.
Now, I wonder,
walking,
if they know what comes.

Hear the ***** of glasses,
shriek of chairs against wood,
photos streamed across walls
elbowing for attention.
Smell the sawdust simmer from the floor,
knife-carved letters etched
decades before by dead hands,
wishbones strewn around
by lads who never returned.
The stubbly Irish guy pours a McSorley,
watch the marigold glug into the mug
and froth over the top.
A gaggle of women natter at the back,
the flatscreen, out of place, chatting away too.

where the bonfire began.
Where your golden syllables were sewn
onto the tapestry of a city.
I can imagine the swirl of your dress,
the feverish squawk of jazz
rebounding from the ceiling.
Few alive who’d remember.
Few witnesses who saw
you gnaw on his cheek, draw blood.

Sixty-one years later.
The hubbub of tourists,
a swell of shop windows.
They do not think of you, but I do.
I think of Ross, Myers, Huws,
the Weissborts and Minton,
and you two, the first lightning-white boom
that triggered a lust, a love,
a marriage.

What verses will form next?
I hope for platinum language,
dialogue free from bloated pauses.
If only a while, I’ll hold it somewhere
in the walls of my mind for life.

I.
Snowman in the park,
not there yesterday
but watching all this morning,
eyes that don’t blink,
black as a crow.

II.
Children **** him
with a vegetable,
a tartan scarf throttles
his frozen throat.

III.
Button-like holes
form a grin,
a banana of circles
fingertip-made.

IV.
Sphere of snow nearby,
an unfinished friend,
project abandoned.

V.
Went to see it,
the skinny veins
of our footprints
a chain around
its podgy white body.

VI.
Sun sploshes the face,
squeak as we touched
its cheek,
residue on our gloves,
signs of decay.

VII.
Doesn’t talk
but sits ignorant,
questions not answered.
Kids get bored.

VIII.
Why will he vanish?
Everything is temporary
a parent explains,
cold as a cube of ice.

VIIII.
Days later
we see it crumble,
great clumps that slump
to the ground,
shedding limbs.

X.
Gone until the next time
I say.
Gone and forgotten,
I bring the scarf back in.

things never said before

my sentences
plagued with stutters

pockets of smoke
my temporary desires

it's when you
strike the match

your orange apostrophe
that keeps me up for hours

lungs bursting
with out-of-season flowers

but it's a fix
cruel trick

the lyrics of you
lost into another

irretrievable night

We melt into the shadows.
Our bodies tick
with an indigo light,
a time signature
specific to us,
movements fluid,
rhythmic,
shushing off the walls
like mysterious whispers,
reflect back
from our electrical figures.
It is a discovery,
the finding and feeling
of skin,
intricacies of instants
only between one and another,
like the extrication of a knot
or a golden rug unfurling.
Our breaths mingle
in the air,
a freshly made mist
full of invisible things.
Goosebumps recede,
our heartbeats tremor
with a want
for closeness,
for silent desires.

Fell asleep.
A dream within a dream.
My pillow a thin tartan blanket
we found crumpled at the back
of your cupboard,
discovered like a pearl
in an oyster or two.

Five metres away,
the sea,
graveyard of lungs
slinks kitten-like
towards the soles of our feet,
a cocktail of voices
swimming in the wind.

I scrabble for your hand.
It is smaller than I remember.
Feel the deep lines
criss-cross
across your palm,
specks of sand
corkscrew up a thumb.

Your hair is seaweed,
still dripping from when
you took a dive,
gulped up by the sea,
and gone gone gone.
I treat you
like my favourite secret.

Only an hour
has passed.
The waves shush us both
so I count the clouds.
They move as lazily
as the fingers of a clock.
And then, my eyes are shut.

He’s already in the room
when I walk in.

He can see me wringing my hands
and a grin half-bananas on his face,
as if he knows precisely
how our conversation will go,

because everyone who’s ever met him
ends up the same way,
with a tempest in their skulls
and an avalanche in their guts.

He’s ordered me a black coffee -
knows it’ll keep me up tonight.
I crumple my fists under the table,
ready for the comic-strip moment

where I overthrow the baddie,
B O S H ! right in the chops,
but it’d be like punching concrete.
I’d come off worse, of course.

I tell him to stop playing,
that it’s gone on too long.
He sees me wringing my hands again
and a guffaw ejects

from his chest,
an ugly-bird sound.
How many times I’ve turned
down an opportunity,

how many times I’ve said
I’ll think about it
only to pass and watch the night
eke away as treacle down the sink.

He’s the blister in my life.
I dismiss the drink, get up to leave,
my only remark, ‘are you leaving too?’
That disgusting smirk.

‘Don’t be silly. We’re friends.’
Outside I breathe fast though
not out of breath,
my palms raspberry-pink.

He’s already waiting
when I get home.

oh look
              how you run
the desert today’s playground
              in your head
oceans
              of possibilities

fawn undulations
              of sand
yawn to the distance
              tracks temporary
telling the story
              of what was
of what
              you won’t forget

the sun
              cupped in your hands
orange disc
              kisses the horizon
and there are miles left
              moments
that will emerge
              as if breathing
through the map
              on your wall

to pulse
              to play to the beat
of your heart
              this is the light of desire
this is the light
              of hope
going
              only to return
again
              like your favourite song

Manhattan’s clockwork
ran just right,
   trains clanking into grey stations
where you’d stand incognito
among a knot of suited men,
   a sliver of white-hot California
slap-bang in the apple,
and now you were ready
   to sink your teeth deep.

Upon the roof,
a limp cigarette
   between two of your fingers,
scanning Park Avenue
as if it was your playground,
   an oven bloated with mayhem.
Your world and their world
captured in muted tones,
   the next phase of a life
simmering in your mind
before the snowstorm came
   and the sky faded to black.

etiolated shell
ball bearings for knuckles
crimson branches
that shudder in the albumen
of the eyes

palms riddled with skinny rivers
navy straws
wrist fissures
roots of calcium
punctured silver

carrier-bag lungs
interior accordion
sack of cherry fluid
limited edition
throbbing blob

in the mirror
yourself not quite
yourself
unchosen blueprint
modified mainframe

filled with tea
and slabs of cheese
envelope of bones
cauldron brewing
on and again on

dislodge myself
tighten my jaw
summer is not
our season of bliss

choke on your flowers
swallow your sirens
the air is lethal
with nightmares

Night slinking in

blues switch from pale

to menacing navy

spiked silhouettes

in the distance

like children’s book monsters

a globe of white

here and over there

but not yet

not yet

for fuchsia streams

punctuate the sky

like a million raspberries

sailing away

before darkness

guzzles them all

before every light dissolves

just like any day

to another day

Playing pool at 5am,
see the sun rise and seep
between mouthfuls
of double choc-chip cookies,
Mountain Dew cooling our throats
like antifreeze into a car.
I gather up your laughter for rainy days,
everything dripping in colours
that haven’t been christened.
Your fingerprint wriggles
form an island chain on the piano,
wet symbols, bathroom carpet
where you got out the shower
in a sky-blue towel;
I hid under the bed.
I tell you you’re messing
with an amateur,
kisses are pleasant glitches
but I’d miss and trip
through the open window.
My hands become flappy utensils
when I explain years months days
of apple cores piled up
behind wardrobes,
my portfolio of fiascos.
Faults are found like Easter eggs -
squeezed from toothpaste tubes,
top shelf of the oven.
This is a dark one here,
a miniature pill.
You only bring mugs
of youthful exuberance to the table.
A click. A shlock.
I turn my head,
the game lost
within a blizzard of minutes.
It’s OK I say,
I wanted you to win.

I hold her arms
as she knocks the egg
against the bowl

a bump

a bit harder I say
again

a crackle
now pull it open
slowly

she gasps
as the yellow present
slops into the bowl

a lake of yolk
on flour mountain

I see it in a way
I haven’t seen before
as if I can see
and feel what she feels
a swell of pleasure

again she says

as I hand over another
from the cardboard box
excited for what comes next

Not for the first time,
clusters of heads
turn in her direction,
pupils dazzled by a mannequin
in high-heels
click-clacking down Lexington
one September.
Spilt your drink.
Close that mouth
and remember to blink.

Every trail of sentences
a sultry whisper,
steam billowing out
from a red teapot
while whorls of hair
whipped up like meringue
glisten in sunlight.
Teeth as white as opals,
she’ll give you a wave
if you hand her a smile.
Watch the step now.

Two legs,
a dress,
enough on show.
Trains of men
topple over
into a pool of lust
like helpless little dominoes,
catching her giggles
as they trickle
along every avenue.

They all want a sip
of her delicious potion
she carries in the breeze.
A smudge of cherry lipstick,
a dash of pink glitter,
a lethal glimpse at you
and a wink,
enough to make you say
what's her name?
and forget your own
until you slowly, slowly,
turn back the other way.

I sit in a bar
drinking a cold beer,
my vision’s not clear,
I shouldn’t be here.

I turn to you, speak,
‘Our lives are unfair,
no one seems to care,
they so wouldn’t dare

try and help us eh?’
I am going mad,
I guess like my dad,
it is rather sad

how my life has gone.
Supping beer with you,
I don’t have a clue,
maybe I should do

something else tonight.
I’m gonna be sick,
don’t throw up you ****,
and not over ****,

he’ll **** you you know.
Look at me, a prat
with his beer and hat.
Ah well now. That’s that.

As soon as the final cupful
of water was poured,
we’d hoist him from the plastic tub
and he’d jiggle as if electrocuted,
water flinging everywhere,
a wild tremor from head to tail.
Then we’d pat him dry
with a pink towel,
black hair glossier than ever
and he’d run
straight to the fence,
rub up against it
as if rubbing the freshness
out from his skin,
back and forth
with a goofy look on his face.

You say we should build one,
I say we're not six-year-olds anymore
but you coax me into it
and I find myself
digging with a blue plastic *****
but you use your hands,
scooping up lumps of the stuff.
I notice how some gets stuck
in your fingernails,
how the tip of your thumb
has been stippled orange
but I laugh when you tell me
it's nice to feel young again
and I feel it too
although you, not the building
has more to do with that.

We don't stop,
we make a whole row of them,
name them after ourselves,
feel so proud of our work
like builders after a long day,
but it's still morning for us
and every-time you stand,
tiptoe up to the sea,
I get so stupidly worried
the tide might take you away.

wash me clean
of all the things I am not familiar with
not familiar enough with
I’ll fling them out like pebbles
to scorch the horizon
corrode away

feel fresh accents
question marks
spill against my legs
like dandelion seeds

old letters will unfurl
underwater
dissolve as stars

these are naked lips
bare hands
when I press them together
you hear tears
plopping onto my skin

the sea is my flesh
I mould my memories
out of salt and clay

leave them in places
we keep a secret

I hold the chill
of your language
as a cluster of pearls

every word
you throw into the light
like a thunderclap

I get pins and needles
from where you grab
my wrist

electric taste in my mouth

so wind us up
like toy cars

and watch us scurry
delirious
as wild animals

in a hurry for something

to get out
from our self-made mess

to breathe free
from the labyrinth
made of ***** mirrors

let’s melt the icicles
use our words like fire

the roar of our stories
warm flicker of your voice

I wanna whirl
in the moment

swallow the blur

keep spinning

absorbing noise
and colour

our noise and colour

write a diary
in purple ink

bits of string
a coffee-wet finger

and still keep spinning
away from the maze

with you
and each second
that follows

before dawn
voiceless streets
rain like dropping pins

grits of sleep
tucked in eyes
throb of restless night

treacle hours
cyclone mind
morning crawling in

turn my way
back to you
underneath the sheets

heat flowers
warm smile
rises in the dark

spend a breath
sounds anew
alive and alive

Darkness crackles where she’s stood,
a memory in the margin.
Stories tumble on her tongue,
words scurry like leaves
back down her throat, scorch her lungs.
She is lost. Alice is lost.

Left her heels at home,
never the right weather,
sending tears in the mail to twenty addresses,
first class sealed in poppy-red envelopes.
She writes left-handed so they’d never know
it was me.
Vowels loop dreamily
but ooze as un-bandaged wounds
over each vital word, every name
she murmurs so the city can’t hear.

Streets fuse together,
melt into a concrete concoction,
a labyrinth Alice crawls through
until her knees bubble red,
ruby rivers throb in her eyes.
Turning into a zombie,
downed the wrong pills,
now her hands belong to someone else,
do what you like, what you will.

Cranberry Street to the corner of Jay.
Midnight and midday both the same.
Now out come the princes, princesses
feeding their heads, slapping money
on the table, licking wine glasses clean.
Alice finds solace in a streetlamp,
twirls like a ribbon and falls
into another crackling darkness
with no one to call.

So we decided to light candles

the box at the back of the cupboard
collecting dust like a man collects stamps

and because there were so many
you had to use three matches

a coarse shriek as you scratched
the stick against the side

and you moved around the room
holding it between *******

as a lurid pumpkin glow
slobbered up the radiator.

Soon after a scent
resembling a shiny toffee apple

you’d used a ‘smelly candle’
a fuzzy aroma in my nose

and when we went to bed
the flames still quivered

pools of melted wax
like burgundy blood wounds.

you cannot fall in love
with strangers
you fall in love
with the idea
create a filter
a sort of cellophane wrapper
dangled in front of the eyes
and everything sweeps
virus-like into colour

you’re lapping it up
a thirsty hound
making an accent that fits
as if whisking ingredients
until the texture’s correct
the two of you together
in scenarios that’ll never happen
a matinee showing
on the cinema screen in your head

you’ll picture it
and it will feel real
but you’ve fashioned a fiction
bleeding with improbable chapters
the idea a supernova
real life a distant planet

what would it be like to drown?
Water sloshing in my ears,
everything black. Wobbly.
Cold and useless
you said.

Would I wash up on the beach?
Seaweed laced between my toes,
a mannequin. A soft toy.
Drenched and dead
you said.

Would someone save me?
Hurl my floppy body out
the sea like a wreckage.
Lay one on my sand-splashed lips
you said.

Would you miss me?
I'm too much of a scaredy-cat
anyway. Think I'll watch
the sun sink with you instead,
you said.

Once again, we have returned.
Lunch in a side-street café,
window seat,
watching students
huddled together in duffel-coats
venture into this Christmas commotion.
George Michael’s voice emanates
from somewhere as a girl with golden
hoops in her ears
and fingernails the colour of lava
takes our order.
A stranger’s drained cup,
a torn open sachet of sauce
oozes wound-like,
then removed.
Two minutes pass.
A toasted baguette in a basket,
Coke pasting a fur on my teeth.
I could have had Earl Grey
or Breakfast tea or Camomile
but no.
I stick to what I know.
The blonde waitress
greets more people.
I do not know who she is.
And I have finished,
ready to be bruised
by the wind’s invisible fists.

summery strum

jangly notes bounce
through air

smooth cold lick
strawberry ice-cream
dripping

pale curves
where a bikini lived

your legs shimmer
bronzed sunset

wind warbles
blonde hair
a reckless shiver

sun hits skin
with a blizzard of kisses

touch me

you taste of something
succulent

something you shouldn’t have
all in one go

magnetic electric physical

consonants fluid
like warm water

hands a slippery murmur
around your waist

an us
not an I

we are rapid fire
a hot knot
of carbon and calcium

our lips
mouths
moment

present

one

lick the sky with commas
crimson ribbons
  and shamrock murmurs
   like the crayon scribbles
    of a young child
     electric choir
     strums of colour
    make melody of night
   shifting whispers
  a new language blur
we can only open
our mouths at

I.

You scribble your name,
   spaghetti letters
on my arm
   in sky-blue ink
so when my eyes open
   I’ll be able to remember
when you asked
   if you could
write your name
   on my arm.

II.

Where did you come from?
The waves
must have done something,
the water
glistens on your legs
like a hundred
million silver sequins,
your hair
melted toffee squiggles
oozing
between shoulders.

III.

The longer I stay,
the more the empty pit
   he can’t ignore
   will froth with pink bubbles,
gurgle as a kitchen sink
gulping soapy water,
   spill over in a torrent
   of sugary sentences
but it’s OK;
I ought to tell him
   I like the electric rush.

The rain comes as a disappointing
flourish to the night.

I would go out in it.
I'd be away from my cave

at least. Nothing
is unusual these days. A time of

crookedness and dirt.
My events bleed through the present.

Blue shirt
I can’t trust a boy like you.
Sectarian sympathiser,
driving brothers apart.

I see a glint in your eye
whenever I
lean in for the unanswered kiss
self-assuredness is your favourite

amuse bouche. Nice with a fine wine
tastes a little like shellfish.
Picpoul de Pinet
for a girl that’s hardy on the outside.

Just when I am starting to turn
purple on the lips
you breathe air into me
and hide again.

----------

Believe me,
there’s red in these veins
and flames in my lungs.
Your eyes

eye me up, river blue.
Chip fat and *** smoke
make out for a foul cloud but
girl, you’re the pearl of the night.

Your mouth is the glossy phone
I should answer,
wanting love on a tongue
like a pillow of wine.

When you grip my shirt,
expect to connect, I end up
pouring out puddles of nothing,
your lips apart like violets.

Experience is limited
I could store my lot
in a test-tube

others have barrels
and barrels
and can roll them out.

If you are far out at sea
half-hidden half-showered
in sun

I am on the beach
with water licking
my little toes.

Never pushed
only nudged
as a chess piece

to where I need to be
to absorb
a hazy scene.

Tiptoeing
at twenty-one
so be it

at least I will be ready
when I hand myself
the new baton.

Oh old sport,
it crumbles around me.
The lights have dimmed
to a feeble moan,
my reveries like shirts
idly blowing in the air,
head heavy as morphine.

I feel my heart throb
like a defective clock
as cool fall rain slithers
down the windows.
Every set of eyes
has turned away;
now sad spheres
that gaze elsewhere.

Her voice was my wild tonic,
her figure an enchanting breeze.
We’d unravel as hanks of wool,
kisses that would leave
a tingle on our lips.
There are no pills for what is now.
Past moments entombed
behind frosted glass.
Agitations that turn me
into a sugar-rushed flea.  

Look now Jay.
The water an awful, inky blue,
the pool a somnolent cavity.
I wish to fix it,
to slot the pieces into place,
the seconds flitting by
as if ash in the wind.
A pinprick of green
glimmers in the distance.

Old sport,
I swear I hear my bones cry.

Baby, I thought it worked.
Baby, I don't understand what has happened.
Everything we knew, the pieces
one discovers when it's more than holding hands,
we splashed red. That lovey-dovey red.
Valentine display in a shop window red.
It was serious. Intense.
Too intense? Who's to say.
We were puppets made of lust,
glistening in the night
like glow-in-the-dark stars.
But baby, I had buttons,
and you pushed them all.
Set me whirring away as a spinning top
off the table. But I did the same to you.
Got you all flustered, red-faced, wet-cheeked.
We liked to nit-pick our mistakes,
gather them together, scrawl them into a list
on the fridge so every time I got a drink
I’d be reminded of last night’s tiff.
Baby, what were we doing?
You slept with your back to me,
and I’d be all fidgety. I’d go into our bathroom
and get angry. Curse at myself in the mirror.
I threw my heart at you
and you blended it to bits.
Where’s the ‘it happens in every book’ ending?
Baby, the ‘get you hankie out, they’re about to kiss?’
The couple across the street have it,
the waitress in the café.
Our parents must’ve had it.
These things happen. But why us? Why now?
How can you tread water one minute
then face the fact you’re drowning the next?
Baby, I’m too broken to be fixed,
but that doesn’t mean we can’t give it a try.
Baby, can you hear me?
Maybe I’ll repair you
and we’ll both feel like new.

In Science class
he brandishes the stick
of wood, alight at the tip,
wafts it against
the balloon’s skin,
his students awaiting
the expulsion of colour,
a bang to jangle the eardrums.
He moves in, the pumpkin flame
prods the hollow shape
and it vanishes
in a second of a second
to a spiral of fire,
the sound spreading
through the room faster
than teenage gossip.

Here it comes,
what we weren’t expecting.
Thankfully you have one with you
so you fish it out
before the drizzle
becomes a downpour,
press the button
and watch it pop open
like an airbag,
the spindly blue tent
to protect us
from the wet.

We huddle together
as marshmallows in a bag,
as fruit in a bowl,
listen to the spattering,
the clattering of stuff
from the sky,
rounds of applause
dropping off the edge
onto sand.

I hope it stops soon.
     Yeah, me too, me too.
You grab my dry hand
as we shuffle closer,
only able to hear the rush
of the rain.