A cold lonesome night,

the streets a desert of garbage and secrets,

crumbling dreams twisting in the air,

grey concrete oceans,

humans upon humans;

locked in cabinets.


I lie shivering under your coiled figure.

Clothed yet icy to the touch.

Dark shapes slide along the ceiling, sinking slowly into the cracks and

stains;

you move.

you move closer, arms enclosing my waist, legs entwined around mine,

lips nestled against my neck, a quick bite, a breath

before you drift again to somewhere,

I can’t find.


I wonder what you see behind closed eyes,

I wonder how the shape of my body feels beside yours,

what do you notice?

I can’t sleep.

I can’t fall into an abyss beside you and not worry about waking from it.

your eyes open.

Your hands tracing down my spine, I feel you grind even closer,

almost trying to fit my mould, take over my being, come inside

like I’m the only warm spot in your bed.

You sleepily tease, expecting me to groan as i feel you glide up my thighs

but I can’t stand the pressure.

I feel your tongue over my shoulder blades

before you move off with

a muffled sigh

a disappointment crawling along the bed sheets.


Is this not what I thought I wanted?

to feel touch, to feel desire, to feel bodies linking;

the heat of attention, the fire of lust and adventure and power over you.


but it’s empty.

there is a jagged piece open in my chest.

I think it’s where my heart would be,

but you don’t help heal it

you only

rip

little

seams

apart

into a growing hole.

I thought I could use you to forget someone.

I thought I could feel again, the way I did in his arms,

swimming in his eyes.

I need his attention again, before I feel the loss,

the prickling sting,

the pain.

why do I crave such poison?


I bleed memories of you.

I feel them trail along the carpet as I drag myself

out of that man’s arms,

into the empty night.

I feel you walk alongside me,

but you keep

falling behind.

I turn and you fade.

like you never existed at all.

And I feel the sickness climb my throat,

I feel my legs shake;

heart beat throb rolling in my ears.

why have you left me for dead?


Why are you so cold?

Do you feel?

I kiss you and you hide.

I hold you and you twist away like I’m

hurting you.

Frigid.

Icy.

Void and broken.


I have this disease coursing through my bloodstream.

there is no cure.

and It’s you.

you circulate through me, causing all kinds of hurt.

You are part of me, just like i’m the shadow you see in the evenings,

and the shadow that hunts you at dawn. The shadow of the person you

long to feel against your

skin again.

We will never lose each other.

perhaps one day I’ll be able to bottle you.

bleed myself dry and place you on a shelf, a pedestal.

but for now you stay.


Stay.

because I know I can’t live without your curse bundled tight inside me.

Stay.

because if you walked away again where would you leave me?

They don't speak, all the long,
winding bus journey.  They are
strangers, with nothing in common
besides the No 50 route
and the free travel passes
afforded to them on account
of their quietly advancing years.
She sits in the seat in front of him.
Their eyes never lock.  His myopic
gaze through thick NHS lenses
rests neutral on the back of her head,
her softly blue-rinsed curls and the collar
of an eminently sensible overcoat.
They sit, both silent, as
- outside the foggy bus windows -
winter has one last chew on
time's bony old carcass.
She has a slight stoop which
she's doing her best to hide, and his
shaking hands make his liver spots blur.
They stand - the bus stopping at their
mutual destination - shuffling sideways
into the aisle, and something
unexpected
happens.
The bus jolts suddenly forwards,
then lurches to a startled halt,
and she falls backwards
into his arms
and he
catches her.
For a second,
strange gravities assume control.
There's a moment,
governed by different laws of
physics and chemistry
and half-forgotten, half-remembered biology.
She flushes, infused with something
warm and thirst-whettingly girlish, and he
surges with a newfound potency,
standing taller, the woman he's supporting
somehow lessening the burden of his age.
Her spine straightens, and
she laughs.  His face, smiling, youthens.
His hands hold her unstooped shoulders and
don't tremble.
Sun breaks through cloud outside the window.
They remember it's spring out there somewhere.

In times of grief you learn some things. Here are the things I have learned:
1) your life is not over because you have a bad day. And a bad day doesn't mean a bad life.
2) family may be all you have, but do not take them for granted because one day you'll wake up and they'll just be gone.
3) God has a plan. He has everything set out for you and even though you can't see it in this moment, everything is going to be okay.
#3 is by far my favorite.