Everything we ever had was built on sand.
we were doomed to fail from the start,
But I enjoyed every minute of catastrophe I could spend with you.

every word
you throw into the light
like a thunderclap

I get pins and needles
from where you grab
my wrist

electric taste in my mouth

so wind us up
like toy cars

and watch us scurry
delirious
as wild animals

in a hurry for something

to get out
from our self-made mess

to breathe free
from the labyrinth
made of ***** mirrors

let’s melt the icicles
use our words like fire

the roar of our stories
warm flicker of your voice

I wanna whirl
in the moment

swallow the blur

keep spinning

absorbing noise
and colour

our noise and colour

write a diary
in purple ink

bits of string
a coffee-wet finger

and still keep spinning
away from the maze

with you
and each second
that follows

There was almost a fight once.
I say almost, because it was.
I saw it with my own eyes,
in the bus station
that isn’t there anymore
because they blew it up
and everyone cheered.
I don’t remember it much
because this is years ago
and I hadn’t finished university yet
but I was standing in line, as you do,
avoiding eye contact,
like the cucumber
sandwiched between a grey old lady
and a pregnant ******* her phone,
waiting for the X4
or whatever it was called.
I was eating something
and then the black man stood up,
not too far away,
went up to the elderly man,
told him to move, got in his face
like an optician inspecting your eyes
except with more venom.
You could see it in the way he moved.
I don’t know what words were spilt.
I didn’t hear. I said I only saw it.
Then he, the black man that is,
kicked the other man in the shin
with the tip of his boot.
I just stood and watched
like everybody else
because it’s an unexpected moment
in an unexceptional place
as a brief scuffle began,
a thrashing of arms, a spell of aggression.
It ended.
The old man sat down again,
rubbing his leg as strangers spoke.
The black man looked riled.
Cops came out of nowhere
as if they magically transported
to a bus depot by mistake.
I don’t know what happened next
because I got my ride home
and got on with my life,
but I like to think they nicked him
for causing a minor ruckus.
But they probably didn’t.
The buses don’t go there anymore
because they exploded the station.
I might’ve said that earlier.

I can have anyone I want,
but all I want is you.
That ever out of reach object of my attention.
The moon I can't capture between my fingers.
The ever running tide from my shore.
Why do you run from me?
Or, more correctly,
Why am I chasing you?

in our veins
the warm slither
of familiarity

spilling spider-like anxieties
serving molten stories

written
on multi-coloured balloons

we inhale the air
like it’s precious

and it is

each mouthful
a moment
a reminder
of what is now

after the rain
tide out
  the sea
   a sliver of mauve silk
    in the distance
     sand pockmarked
    with footprints
   like paintbrush stipples
  a mishmash of patterns
naked to the sky
all pastel hues blended
with a slippery finger
  ultramarine
   into a violet yawn
    into a lavender blush
     into an apricot kiss
    the mellow slosh of water
   chatter
  sun setting
as a pinkish glimmer
slithers over the beach