“Am I still your favourite person?”
I asked, eyes wide,
Arms wrapped behind my back like folded
Can you unfold me and
tug at the frayed edges until we forget they existed,
Kiss me clean.
“Am I still your favourite person?” I ask,
Or just forgotten
I always thought we’d find our way back together, somehow, sometime, someplace. And we did. But we were older and we had changed.
You had made me cold.
You left. You were always good at walking away.
You did not look back this time.
You should have told me that you wanted to fight.
NIC- newly industrialised person
And the word boyfriend sounded foreign to me
As if it should be spoken from another girl’s lips.
When I did say it, it was through a gravel mouth
as though I was cursing your half smile and rough hands
that furrowed brow, how everything was a thought process to you. (Love cannot and should not be analysed, databased or calculated).
And as though I had not heard from you in one hundred years,
I Extricated Myself.
Your ice eyes and my tense body
something falls together
Is not how quickly it will fall apart.
Distance can drown your lungs as every gasp of air is filled with someone else’s laugh
That water laugh
all light and salt,
You reminded me of a Monday morning cigarette break
That between awake and asleep
the day away
With my rolled-up heart
Charred around the edges
Wishing for white sheets and plump pillows
But lusting for the blackness
That came with your presence.
Your kiss with its darkness
And your charcoal throat
The same warmth
that arrived with a raspy inhalation
of smoke through nose to chest,
My tar lungs and cigarette breath.
Burnt out amber
Of orange and black
Sparks against pavement
The miniature fireworks
Under my fake Laboutin shoe.
You were my
Narcotic, Insomniac Addiction
Darling, Come Monday morning
I thought of you.