Woah there, stop. Stop. Control your breathing.

And look at me now.

You let it gallop away from you, didn’t you.

You had it under control. But you slipped.

And you should know better than to ride without a saddle,

The fretwork of ribs

Digging against your tired groin with each stride

And by then who’s riding who?

It bucked and thrashed and the rope frayed and arced, wild

And yet you held on, didn’t you.

And you were dragged along the ground


Barely there

Through the rocks and silt and filth

Rope still in your grip

Skin flayed and dust and grit peeling into eyelids and gums

Until barely a face left to call your own.

Next time, when you fall off,

Let go of the rope.

Let it run away and find new plains to inhabit.



Oh! I saw that thing you did.

Yeah, really cool.

It took a lot of time did it? Yeah?

I thought it might’ve done.

What’s that? It made you feel satisfied

Creatively and intellectually? Wow.

I thought about doing something like that,


Yeah, maybe I’ll get round to it.



I felt bad so I went down to the market

for something to do.

It was nice, for all too brief a moment.

My thoughts got lost in the

ripe reds

and bright yellows of big Italian tomatoes,

and while I hovered over them like a fly

I picked the perfect ones

based on important things,

like roundness and lack of bruises.



Your body is a toast

To long summers

And minor injury

Weather that’s black n blue


At the end of the day

Or the end of the month;

The long morning slog

The mid-afternoon slump -

Together’s a beautiful place

For us.



When you breathe I relax

And tell you that it’ll take more time

To gather my thoughts properly

To address such a feeling.

You keep your bed tucked into the corner,

Right under the window. How you like it.

Awoken last night, I reached over and touched you;

The small of your back in the small hours.

You were freezing, and unresponsive,

And it took me far too long to realise

My fingers

Were tinkling across the glass



I know myself well,

Don’t get me wrong

But I have no idea how I’ll feel

Two months on

From now

When the sun comes out in all its glory

My emotions, pray tell -

An entirely different story

Your skin the colour of summer holidays

Your brown eyes that glint in that certain light

I know all it would take

Something so subtle, so slight

The movement of your mouth

Merely suggesting a smile

But that’s not what I have now

And I can see it, in those same eyes

That the creases on your brow

Aren’t tan lines