Looking for providence
In the areas of hellfire and ash
Strung along four walls
For my humanity is up for grabs
Where my insanity seems to land
For I am hellishly filled with self doubts
And these words aren’t necessarily poetry
Just mere poetic venom
Seeping to the core desires of my whims
Amongst the rolling hills of sin
With sea salt licked sympathies on the rise

perhaps i beckon love
and failure
in proportion.

i know dresses don't fit me like a tube sock
and the skin around my fingernails is raw
but i'm tired of walking away from a love story
and feeling as if i'll never
walk home to one.

i don’t think I found myself in the poetry, i think i am finding myself in your arms
under the gentle pressure of your fingertips and the velvet embrace of your words.
they think I found myself in the halls of the airport that it walked alone
but
i think i am finding myself in the kitchen of your flat, waiting for the kettle to come to a boil; in cups of tea nursed at the table and I hope that’s okay.
i sip in the same tentative manner that i reach for your hand in the dark; you may have the effervescent beauty of a tree in the autumn but right now i would like to lace my fingers with yours and be human together. i hope that’s okay.
you are like literature and myth; a deep and sprawling spectrum of contradictions and complexities. i feel like teiresias; blind and trapped within my own self-made cocoon of spiralling thoughts.
eyes closed i reach for your hand.
i almost miss my stop on the last train home spilling out sweet words about your everything.
her hair straight out of bed with soft eyes and parted lips, sculpted by aphrodite; carved from the finest marble i want her to pin me down,
to the bed, to reality-
her lips, to guide me
from her waist and back
to sanity. early in the morning
when she wakes up tangled in sheets
with her eyes peeking up over her phone,
soft smile on her lips.
the world stands still in the soft glow of flickering street lights like visible heartbeats, glowing and not glowing in tandem, and the windows are frosted along the edges; worrying a cracked lip between my front teeth i realise this may be the most I have ever thought about tea.
our fingers
tangle, grasp sheets or cheeks rosy
with first-kiss smiles. eyelids
crinkle.
you are butterflies in my stomach, fear and exhilaration, honesty and hope
you are
listening to the same song on repeat; your laugh is the song stuck in my head, every song i’ve ever loved,
the only song i want to listen to.

Just an elevator man
If he had a name he never said
Among few words were what floor
Pushing buttons, sliding doors

It wasn't like he wasn't the pleasent type
Everyone enjoyed the ride
Had a way with a smile
Could make a junkyard dog give up his growl

The years all pass in a dying breath
Steals your soul, don't give it back
With the old joke that we all know
Life has its ups and downs he often told

As he started to wear they bought him a chair
Just within reach of the buttons there
Some days though he'd be asleep
Happens more and more quite frequently

That's why no one knew that he'd been dead
A month of Sundays the coriner said
He'd passed away they believe
Somewhere between floor 1 and floor 19

The tenets now help themselves out
Thinking of the one that never said much out loud
Just an elevator man
If he had a name, he never said