~

As I tidy, I organise time in little pill-pockets, sweep debris from sills and tables. I dice their cravings and fancies into some sort of meal, and wash nine hours of lines trod and toed from my clothes, ready for morning.  

These things make me feel needed, and I resent them as though they are chains. Do you draw me as selfish?

~

As I rest, I see my oldest cup with my keys; my coat and cleaned-boots left by the radiator gathering heat, and I wrap myself in a patchwork of dreams. I catch a wink - my favourite colours - beaded from the heartbreak-dark of a room.

These things make me feel loved, and I breathe them as though they are air.
Do you draw me as ungrateful?

~

As I watch, I turn my reflection this way, that way, pile ink-hair on her crown. I imagine my burgundy dress fall over her hips to the floor -  reveal to my mind the vanity of sheer-stockings and dark eyelash-lace on porcelain skin.    

These things make me feel beautiful, and I miss them as though they are dead.
Do you draw me as shallow?

~

Up all night,
I can't sleep.

Losing my mind,
I'm in too deep.

Drowning underground
in a rabbit hole,

Will what I've found
make me whole?

Absence is to love as wind is to fire; it extinguishes the small and kindles the great
— Roger de Bussy-Rabutin, Memoir of Roger de Rabutin


Four thousand meters above the sea, I breathe without air
I feel the same when beside me you are no more
The black, the void chokes me in the moment’s despair
And The Scarlet Fear runs inside me with a thunderous roar

My aching marooned heart bleeds from behind
Of the darkened soul that consumes me at each stride
But love is the golden aether of my troubled mind
An oxygen supply brought to this confusion tide

Without your presence, they were icy nights
Though knowing your fire ignited with my fuel
Is a mild treat, a promise of a beautiful sight

Kindless trouble, is it all in my imagination?
And is the love I feel a mere foolish incantation?

I will never know until she answers my soundless voice