Tidal Wave

I hold this to no standards
The air that you are
the mornings of cold comfort and ice melting down your chest

      I feel like a tidal wave that will drown you

                  I am sorry for the immensity of my words
                    

But if I cannot hold thoughts of you in the jars I gaze up at longingly on my highest shelf
Or keep secrets locked in jewelry boxes in my bottom drawer underneath socks and magazine brochures
How will I remember the moments of fleeting sense and reckless abandon that carved out spaces of beauty in my grey months
How after all that I have invested in seconds, and calendar crosses, and alarms will it not go to waste

                           to evaporate

 

I cannot let you be that

an absence of explanation a slip in my minor scale

a fallen note into pale silence

                                                                                                                            washed away.

Be

the splash of milk in morning coffee
the worn pairs of socks sliding down hallways
the snort of true laughter
and the crinkles of true faces
and the gaps between teeth
the colour of ideas, rainbow, tomorrow
The scraping of chairs, the taker of seats
The owner of space
the rustle of feathers, the rustle of papers
the leaning forward, the leaning in
the unfolded petals, of letting light in, open
Turned to face the sun

Oyster

“I drink too much tea,” she said while making herself a mug. She lived in contradictions, she smiled in the face of irony and always added three heaped sugars.

“Stop, ” I said. ” You’ll become an instant diabetic.”

“I’m sure that’s not how it works.” She replied, the corner of her mouth inching upwards to create that dimple on her left cheek I loved. Continue reading Oyster

Doubt

It eats at the back of your mind, making those loud chewing noises I detest so much. 

Today I decided that I’m going to be braver. Not in the sense that I’m going to go skydiving, or rock climbing or learn parkour. I mean braver in that deep philosophical sense. I’m going to be myself, pure, unedited. I will embrace the fact that I am the human equivalent of a rushed draft that someone pulled together at the last minute, fuelled by caffeine and desperation. Continue reading Doubt

Morning 18/7/17

This morning, the sight of a blank page was promising.

Ideas came freely, open, into my brain and out of my pen seamlessly. I think I’m better at writing in the morning. More likely, I’m just less awake and therefore incapable of feeling any pressure to be good. A usually overactive mind at this stage has only a few concerns; keep eyes open, yawn, get coffee, write. Continue reading Morning 18/7/17

11:00pm

Tonight I am left with feelings of profound emptiness that would make a good poem if I had the willpower.

You are the main act tonight. I’m devoted to our situation. I’m undertaking a critical analysis of everything we’ve said to each other over the past five months. Easy enough. Meaningful conversation fails me when you’re around. I usually opt for meager nodding or lame pleasantries if I’m feeling brave.

I rarely do.  Continue reading 11:00pm