we met in a bar —
by accident —
i was with a friend.
we matched on tinder
a while ago.
yet, word by word,
you quoted my bio
back to me.
as if you didn’t care.
so casually.

we talked bad dates,
cats, the types we were into,
living sitch in oxford,
housemate gossip,
then silently judged some people.

my friend left, eventually.
we decided to head home.
you were parked at the station,
and i lived off botley road.

you didn’t mind the company.
i didn’t know you.
but i knew of you.
barely.
a friend of a friend.

then i found myself accepting
the lift you offered.

we were almost by my house
when you asked about my plans.

maybe i’d finish
a half-drunk bottle, i said,
with nothing else in mind.

you glanced over,
said you had one at home
you were dying to open.
extremely cheap.
probably vile.
saved for special occasions,
and improvised nights.

the spark was effortless.
as we got to my driveway,
you turned us around.

the ridiculous treasure
you had saved
was worse than we feared,
yet we drank it
until we forgot the taste.

the selfies you made us take
were the silliest kind:
posing with fake glasses,
bandanas,
and that cursed, stick-on moustache.

yours (bandana, not moustache),
wrapped around my neck,
pulled me close.
then you kissed me.

it caught me off guard —
the difference.
you didn’t need me to stay.
i didn’t hear you beg.
with the bottle between us,
we settled in your bed,
discussed programming,
reflection,
the act of meditation —
such an unexpected night to have.

as you drove me home,
you put cheesy pop songs on,
belting out taylor swift.
i noticed the comic strips
glued on the interior —
it was harley quinn.

i still remember all of it.

mostly the goodbye kiss
you carefully asked for
as i opened the door.
and the way our lips brushed
was almost like a dream,
because it was the first time
a kiss,
exchanged with a stranger,
didn’t feel cheap.

we weren’t really strangers
by the end of the night.

(at least not as much
as we currently are.)

i have a tinder profile
will that make any difference
no it wont
i play the guitar
does anyone care NO
i am an artist
nobody gives a crap

i smoke a cigarette
OH WE LOVE YOU
DONT DO THAT TO YOUR LUNGS

i wanna get invited to one high school event
is that too much to ask for
doesn't matter
gonna **** my self anyways

Romance is dead.  
it's throat laid open
love cascading down
murdered by progress  
by the reduced
synaptic
span
on
constant
scroll  

lips licking for the next
hit of one-click
copulation

choking on the slightest
glimmer of
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
waiting,
of elegant persistence and the  
reward of enamored pursuit  
IRL.  

the beautiful cat and mouse of our ancestry  
that wove such wonderful tales  
into the bark of our trees,  
replaced by all the clever wit  
and subtle nuance of  
peak cringe riz

swipe right  
“send nudes”  
“DTF”

How do I stop liking you?
How do I stop talking to you?
How do I stop caring about you?
How do I stop longing for you?
Maybe, just maybe...
I'll learn how to dance on my own.
Maybe, just maybe...
I'll forget about your face and voice.
Maybe, just maybe...
I'll just remember those days when I was happy with you.
Maybe, just maybe...
I'll learn to let you go.

i didn't realize you didn't care.
i tried so hard
to be there for you,
but you blew me off
like birthday candles.
my favorite smell;
next to pine trees,
on a cold december morning,
where i find myself missing you,
again.
it just turns out,
that all the pretty words you said to me
were lies
and thats alright
because
ill just find myself lying in someone else's bed tonight.

wondering
do you ever wonder why,
as i drive by,
how i throw my cigarette out the window?
so violently..
it's because i dont want it..
to fly back in.
sometimes i think,
you're just like that cigarette.
you fly back in..
unbeknownst to me
and burn my carpet.
leaving another mark,
so subtle.
yet another reminder,
of my black lungs
and black heart.
no thanks,
to you.

he swipes the cigarette ashes on his shirt to the right.
he swipes the coffee stain on the table to the right.
he swipes my damp lips from kissing him to the right.
he swipes his hair to the right.
he swipes my blushing cheek to the right.
he swipes my bra straps to the right.
swipe right.
swipe right.
swipe right.
swipe right.

and i swipe my falling tears to the right.

but our love wasn't right.
that i had to find you again as the choices offered.

i still have those pains from the moment that you swipe your invisible knife on my heart
to the right
to the left.
i thought you were right, but you left.