I can hold your fragile heart
And we can tear apart
All the pretty, little things
That made us feel complete

After all the pieces fall
We'll both see eye to eye
Separate our minds and rest
Our bones beside the pile

Suffer through the rising heat
That longs to leave our veins
Race across the creaking floor
In glistening crimson

Taste the burning afterglow
Resolved between your lips
Drunk on ghosts and
Comely phantoms

Let the
bottle
tip.

a silver lining
only shines after the rain
the clouds are a gift

I overfill the kettle
scoop the overpriced instant
into an oversized mug
clinking the teaspoon around
no sugar
it's not really my thing.
I light up half a joint
waiting for the coffee to cool
and think about what's to come
what's today
I'll likely see her there
I'll likely sit down next to her
making small talk, a likely excuse
to study the lines of her face
she'll tell me about the fields she's rambled
about the mountains she's climbed
I'll tell her how I do still write
sometimes
she'll say, "it was good to see you".
and I'll tell her the same
before we part ways
no sugar for me
it's not really my thing.

take me to your hidden stream,
your shortcut through the trees
to the place where
a bird might flutter and land on your hand,
chirping in some ultra violet scene
about dreams and schemes.
take me to your street,
through concrete plans, past unwashed windows,
to the house that was never a home,
to the garden where innocence danced
and the bedroom it still haunts.
take me
to your favourite coffee place,
the one where the coffee isn't quite as good
but they have the long wooden stirrers
and you refuse to use the plastic kind
because you can't help trying to save the world,
take me with a look, take me
for a fool
take me with your fingertips,
your collarbones, your well-versed lips
and whisper to me
of secret things.

How to dress well (and that I'd rather dress comfortably.)
How to hide the laces in my shoes.
That it's apparently "learnt".
How to walk with a limp,
when to walk away.

How to look mean while avoiding eye contact.
Where to find the best coffee.
How to write a bad sonnet.
How to kiss the right way.
Where to find the wrong girls.

How to sing sad songs.
How to roll a decent joint.
How easily a wasted day
can become a wasted life.
How to hold my liquor,
when to hold my tongue,
not to hold my breath.

When enough is enough.
When enough is too much.
When to hold the door open.
How to set a deadline with no intention of adhering to it.
How to feel alone in a packed out club (and where to find the smoking bit).

That time heals nothing
but memories fade.
How long a piece of string is.
That no matter how bad a day you're having, tomorrow can always be worse.

Tomorrow can always be better.