Forever AfterI'm sure there used to be some impossible dreamof a forever after, or some such thing,and I think it was eaten by the black holeof the pillowcase which absorbed my screamsof anger, excitement, pleasure and pain.Do you ever think about it? As we wrestled, giggling,in the prickly mid-July grasses, bitten all overby the bugs of the season... we didn't mind.Each bite was like a burning kiss, a mark ofblossoming love and that which was still to come.Wasn't there a promise, once? Can you even remember?Memory fails me after such short time,and I suppose it doesn't matter any longer.But I still wonder who you were, who I was,and what happened to those young people in love.Did we ever talk about it? We talked of course, we talkedfor so long one day the sun burned our faces awayand we showed each other who was underneath thatcharred skin, we touched each other's skulls and marvelledbut never thought to plan for what might be.I wouldn't go back to those impossible dreams, not
Sweet Nothingsthat sweet nothing (everything) somethingthat you whispered in my apprehensive earwhich made the hairs on my neck stand straightone by one like tiny soldiers you called into rank.that sweet something (nothing) everythingtrickled past my eardrum, where the soldiersbeat a rhythm with my heartbeat, oozed stickilyinto my mouth and the sickly, saccharine tastewas cloying on my tongue, involuntarilymy mouth rebelled, and spat those syrupy wordsaway, rejecting every last drop.
Too LateIt's too late, buddy. Your attempts at appeasementon this post-fuck armchair have long since lost their strength.It's too late for sweet words and oh-so-fucking soft kisses - too late for you to try to win this oh-so-dirty fight.You thought you'd won - I thought you'd won.We both saw predator and prey and knew which we were, and I was falling for your flights of fancy, succumbingto your every sensual desire, seeing situations where I was yours completely; I saw myself fading.I was your possession, not even a person, a plaything.My cunt was a cup from which you supped at will and hid in a cupboard when you had visitors, ashamed.You were not expecting my ascension. I spent so longtrying to please you here -
Don't StartTake the softest silk, I said, and tear it into shreds. Take the smoothest porcelain and smash it to the ground.That's my heart - Don't start, he said, pressing a finger against my lipsand giving me that same sweet smile that drew me in. Don't start - he pulled his fingertip across my mouththen kissed me with the same delicate gentleness which first stunned me.His bind around my soul tightened with his words -
Six Two SixI could tell you not to measurethe distance, but to measure my love;I could tell you distance makesthe heart grow fonder, andI could tell you that lovedoesn't count the miles between us -but all of this you already know.Every cliche I could utter, we knowbecause we are living this feeling.There is a band of elastic betweenour hearts, stretched tight, creakingand stretching as it desperately triesto shrink the space between us.Being one foot from you is too farand I long to reach out and touch youbut try as I might, I cannot reach.But though we are oceans apartyou are always with me when I sleepI see your face, I taste your lipsand feel your warmth against meas if between our two soulsthere was no distance at all. I knowthat there is no space between us;though physically we count the milesour hearts are one and the same.
PauseThere was one brief moment where time stood stilland that second stretched to an eternitywhere I looked into your soul, and you into mine,and in that short forever we ceased to be two separate beingsand our bodies had no end, and no beginning,we were one organism as we shared that one breath, that one heartbeat -and then Time caught us and stepped forward once more.We collapsed into each other's arms, grateful for time spentknowing we could return there any time we pleased.
It's Raining, It's PouringIt's raining, it's pouring,The old man is dead, they say;He stayed outdoors too long and caught the cold.It looked like he was snoringOn that loud and blustery daybut it was just rigor mortis taking hold.
GrowthHe looks so cute in silly hats and costumes of the season,full of laughter, fun and love, silliness for no reason.His smile can light the darkest day, with tiny teeth and gums,He finds fun in the smallest things; in spoons or dolls or drums.He loves without condition even when I'm feeling bluehe's full of hugs and kisses, he's a charmer through and through.He's cheeky, even naughty, as he learns his boundarieshe tests his borders with a smile, he's really quite a tease.When eating, he makes such a mess, and smiles throughout it allhe thinks that throwing food around is such a bloomin' ball;But I'm not mad, it's meant to be, 'cause that's what babies do,I just clean him when dinner's done (and sometimes clean me too!)When strolling down the street with me he's bound to get attentionfrom people young and old alike he always gets a mention.He flirts with all the pensioners, with coos and fluttered lashesand every time they look at him again, that gum-grin flashes.He learns
SkeeterWhy do you bug me, little mosquitowith your siren-whine which mines my mind?You scream past my ears, invisiblein the dark, greedy for my blood,my vital fluid your refreshment;my existence, your sustenance.I wish to squish you, little skeeter.I search for you, ungraspablein this opaque night, you are concealed;My thoughts unhinged by your rasping scream.Vociferous in your hunger, you searchfor nourishment from my spirit.