I see you sat there and I love you.

She’s sat there with her hair waving towards the grit between the kitchen tiles.

Her £15 manicure tapping against the marbled worktop.

She says she sees UFOs in the marbled pattern and watches him speak; with passion; about the flat earth.

What she really sees is the faces of ghouls that visit her dreams.



She is his.

She has dirt under her nails and they both know it,

and she wants to not care and she is his.

The grey is starting to fall beside her mouth and she wants to not care. But she is his.



As he speaks about making her the best breakfast ever

The green for her red blemishes has failed to blend into her blush.

There is nothing in the fridge,

and he wants to care but she is his.



The morning puffiness beneath her eyes has grown because he loves it and she is his.

She has tried sleeping less so it can look – puffier – she has tried sleeping more so it can look – puffier – she has tried to sleep restlessly so it can look – puffier.

Her winning result is: restless. Because he looks at her and she is his.

And he will see me sat there and he will love me.

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I see you sat there and I love you.

Paradise Avenue

Paradise Avenue.
The angels argue who will fall
first, and they choose you.
You are quick to laugh it off,
“O Angels, must I fall. Can you not arrange a ride? With all the power God holds, can he not find someone, who with me, could die?”

Amongst the extroverted residue
I see translucent trails of you.

I see you cry by the bins of Abraham’s bakery
you are just a sphere of blue
Without blowing my cover from behind the reed flute
I somehow wish to tell you
for years I’ve watched you grow into
a light above the architectural dispute,
and since a child golden cobbles heat up as you walk beside them on your way to Gabriel’s honey pool,
I see you between God and his first Repute
and since a young age you have had your eyes wishing to dilate,
cocking your head between God and Adam
wishing you could have a love as great.

For heavenly years I have tried to build up the verses to tell you that;
I have fallen in love with watching you and
I have come to always
see you behind me, ahead of myself
I see you above me, I lower myself
my only wish is for you to be brave enough to grow form
so I may hold you and you may have, just as you wished, a love to fall for.

Paradise Avenue

I Don’t Believe

 

I don’t believe in the first day we met
It’s all just fables and tales.
We may have bled into each others skin
unwillingly seeped into each other’s lives

 

we may have forgotten what we meant

maybe we never said hello right

 

I don’t believe in the way you look at me
Because there has never been a day
you didn’t look dead
And that’s not how it’s supposed to be

 

It’s supposed to be us against the world

                                      but the world burnt us alive

 

I don’t believe in a mother’s touch
Because sadness no longer means
find warmth from your hands
It means find shelter in any man’s plan

 

You didn’t even have to do anything,

I could have brought the blanket

 

I don’t believe in firearms since
the day you shot me in the leg
and I fumbled by your feet
close to kissing them

 

I’m sorry for staining your shoes

I remember trying them on as a kid

I don’t believe I saw remorse
When you froze me with your stare

 

I don’t believe you ever looked at me
standing still when you breathed heavily

 

I don’t believe humans are from one
because we’ve always been about honesty

 

I don’t believe we are all connected
All because you don’t believe in me

 

Aside

I Bet.

 

I prayed for forgetfulness and that’s my last memory of you.

 

I bet you remember

how many traffic lights it took for me to become bashful

how many horse drawn hearses it took to undo the knots in my gut

how many spans of your hand it took to go from

the pit of my neck to the bottom of my spine

the number of ribs you could stick your teeth into

 

when you made me gasp for air

the first time we got carried away,

which was some day

a few dozen months ago.

 

and all I remember

is wishing for the sun

to rapidly grow old.

 

Go on, tell me you love my birth mark

on the right side of my back

just above my blade,

The one that dug deep into your chest

when I wanted to leave

and you wanted nothing

but for me to stay.

 

I know you remember

the look of panic in my eyes

when you made me run to the door

with my clothes in my hand

and tears ran

on your bathroom lino

 

I came back from Babel’s recital

gasping for the same air

in the same room

some time later.

 

and I don’t know why.

 

Say it all.

I know you

will never forget.

And you know

I believe in prayer.

 

I don’t remember

what day we met,

what you were wearing,

how it felt to feel you

beneath my chest.

 

I don’t believe you’re dead.

 

How easily I forget.

 

Go on.

Keep saying

I love you.

I dare you.

Aside

Bengal

As soon as words leave her mouth, love turns to lust.

A Bengal tiger guards the now familiar pavilion

And stretches his elegance as soon as the adhaan is heard

The white silk wrapped around the four bed post tastes the parity in the wind

The red inked walls listens to their breathing getting heavier.

She can hear his clothes creasing, his feet on the dense Persian rug

With passionate modesty she looks away from him

And towards the Fourty Rules of Love she left on her bed

Without a word she feels the rosemary around his neck on her neck.

She feels her straw bed on her back.

She feels his regretful love on her lips. His bridled future on her breasts.

The Opening begins playing in her father’s voice in her head

She trembles in her lace gown when she witnesses divinity

The gold coins embellished with allegory cradles the wind

Creating rich sounds of The First Father.

It hides the vibration of her first unforgettable sharp breath.

But, the Bengal tiger’s ears perk up,

his sunbathed skin going wherever his bones go.

He silently walks through the grains of silk towards the enriched pavilion.

He finds both girl and boy undressed, on the Persian rug

Wrapped in wine sheets

blushes of red in their cheeks, pretending to be asleep.

He looks at her and  counts the threads beneath her shoulder.

And she opens her eyes to look at him

When she no longer felt his eyes on hers.

Bengal

Ipswich

I saw the sky in 3D. The dual carriageway taught me that I want to travel. Well not so much taught. It told me I want to travel at night. It told me not to sleep.

I was driven onto one very long straight road all the way to Ipswich. I visited family, the type you grow up with and then during annual visits you all speak of how you wish you never grew. That type of family. We ate. We smiled through awkward silences. We felt a deep regret when we asked each other questions we should know the answer to. And then we parted ways. We were all walking towards our cars and in one moment we were connected. We all looked up at the sky at the same time and saw in it our own very different reasons to drive home.

On my way home at 2am there were no street lights on. There was just the dim light coming from the front of the car. I had to sit in the back of a two seater, wedged in the middle of two people. I let my head fall back and I got to see what we were all engulfed in. The night sky. I didn’t consider myself small under this blue blanket. I was a grown woman clutching onto a blankie. It was brimming with stars. They were moving and our car was still. My neck was starting to hurt but I was fixed on the formations. I saw three shooting stars. And I’m almost certain they shot across whenever I opened my eyes after closing them for a few sleepy seconds. It was like the shooting stars were reminding me beauty cannot be found when I’m asleep. Wake up and witness nature dancing. Wake up and listen to the layers above you. The soft vibration from the engine was creating a buzz that lulled me into security.

The stars were falling and then with great speed stopped to be suspended. Stars were breathing. Formations were speaking. Greek gods were watching. Lovers were swinging from crystal to crystal. I love my city but that won’t stop me from walking miles to witness a moody sky adorned with diamonds it inherited from its mother.

I reached home and looked up before I stepped inside the house. It just wasn’t the same. But after a long time of feeling a heaviness on my chest I was going to sleep with a clear breath.

Ipswich

The Moon & I

I’m feeling nostalgic over moments that happened a month ago.

I remember listening to the moon creak slowly down his angle. Arthritis got him moving slower.

‘Tell me tales of the old’, I asked the moon and the stars. They gave me a little inspiration and I thank them for their stories. I may have departed them by belittling the sky. I told her she’d be absolutely nothing if it weren’t for them. Who would look into an empty sky and dream of lives they wished they believe they could live?

I did this every night for a very long time because I was always static during the day and I found it hard to see past the computer screen and all it’s information.

So, every night I met with the moon and it would project an image of itself chasing the sun. A little narcissistic but I liked knowing the moon knew what he wanted to do with his life. He would show me all the lovely people that spoke with him about the freedom they longed for (I admit I got rather jealous when i saw that loads of girls spoke to him). At twilight I’d say good night.

One night, I was on my way to the moon and Orion’s Belt coughed stardust in my face. I gave him a good telling off and a little advice to take some honey and lemon. Apparently, Orion was trying to get my attention and had something urgent to tell me. He said that the moon is a hypocrite and I should not fall for his trap. I was instantly taken aback. He asked me if I wished I was as beautiful and as happy as the moon. I said yes. He asked me if I wished I was as free and light as the moon. I said yes. He asked me if I knew what the moon’s job is. Job? What job? He does these things because he loves to. Orion’s Belt told me the moon has got a 9-5 job and he’s stuck in it forever and he has no choice but to stick to it. His job is to make people feel free.

At exactly ten past eleven the moon came. I never realised it had a schedule. I felt very betrayed by the moon and told him everything Orion’s Belt told me. He didn’t even deny it. I couldn’t believe that all those nights I was looking at life’s 9-5 job to think I was unshackling from my predestined plan.

The moon and I don’t talk anymore. Ever since that talk with Orion’s Belt I’ve felt a bit weird speaking to the stars.

The moon can’t derail and neither can I. And now I’m always sleeping on time and waking up on time.

The Moon & I