breathless in bed

What are you scared of?

I hear the question and my heart goes still

Open blue, earnest blue

flecked with memory

(a drop of the truth in a wave of belief) –

your eyes betray nothing.


whose hand is this in yours

and which tree do we find ourselves under

you are not you and

I am not me

we are strangers,

(brother and sister)



two new people meet in the night,

when the stars guide along the promenade,

and four years are crushed in the palm of a hand

young eyes and bright ideas are now

bare arms in the window-frame glow

and it’s finally happening.


what is?

what is it?


it’s a waltz in the lift and you pulling me in

it’s the poisonous heat and the bed made of sin

it’s bare legs, bare breasts, on the white counter top

it’s your teeth on my lips though you swore you would not

it’s too much, it’s too sweet, it’s awaking at dawn

it’s the dust in your hair when the secrets are gone

it’s aching feet, aching streets, when the last tram has left

it’s the rawness of pain and the relief found in death


(and i’ll dance you through the streets and i don’t care

there’s lipstick on your neck and i don’t care

i’m up against the wall and i don’t care

there are scratches on your back and i don’t care

my screams are set alight and i don’t care

i’ll break my hands on this bed and i don’t care

our time is running out and i don’t care

we were never meant to be and i don’t care)


you’re hopeless – absurd

yet you won’t hear a word

you’re sad to leave

(though it’ll be good for your health) –

do you part from the city

or do you part from yourself?


who are you? what are you,

what would you even have left

without the steadfast belief that together is best

the white tails and cane-swing of trodden-on times

the tip-flinging, name-dropping, signature smiles

under sky-sweeping ceilings, the guise of the lights

you think yourself free when you stream through the night

not alone, not in love, hardly even at rest

yet the shadows lay bare the deep ridge in your chest

I see the blank nights when you fall into bed

the crack in your voice from a sorrow unsaid

the cockroach of vice crawls deep under your skin

your head hits the table and the world starts to spin

you’re so desperate to hide that you have to be seen

and you want to grow old to hide what you well could have been.





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