Today a grey misted rain coats the streets and river. Obscuring the tops of the tallest buildings, flattening the city. Large droplets fall from the leaves above that have become heavy with gathered mist. Pattering the canopy overhead. A smaller and closer city on days like this. Searching for dry warmth indoors or at bus stops.
Two languages twisting in air
Religious words through compromise
Gold dangles at your earlobe
Stolen smiles between the two of you
Sniff and a rustle for tissues.
Net stretches, bending bodies
Nervous, a shove, a push, a giggle
Blessed by mothers
The back of your neck bends elegantly
We flirt with tears
Some more successfully than others
Petals and confetti pelted at you swirl softly about your bodies.
Imposingly beautiful, strong.
Tartan and lace catching like velcro
Woven but not bound
A photographer stands on a ladder
Freckles wink through fine netting
Vintage volvo but no tin cans
Pickled fish and haggis
You are different now
But no different to the people
in that small London flat.
“Freedom in small things
Unity in major matters
And love in all things”
I remember lying on my bed looking out the window
Two pigeons on a ledge
No sheet on the mattress
I was changing it
Your father is dying.
I offer you what I can
You do not cry, you won’t yet.
Making your armour with words.
I never met your father.
Though I feel I have
When you talk of him now your eyes shine
With the wetness of tears
But also with a fondness
A love unique.
Overtaking me at the junction at a right hand turn.
I need to learn the highway code
I am a dopey woman
Your Aston Martin
Isn’t it lovely big and black
You in your suit and your pinstripe shirt
slamming your horn
Your partner sitting next to you chiming in with unsisterhoodly remarks.
Cool headed with my flat rear tire
I know the highway code
I am avoiding a serious puncture
My words rundown by your slurs on my character
Cold flat surface under my finger tips
Reflexes pull at my hand
At your wing mirror
We have demeaned us both.
World outside my window, bosom shelves and cupcakes, salt and vinegar crisps with semi skimmed milk.
Slug trails on trees like trace glitter from a hen party clinging to your breasts.
Shrill screams and L-plates. Waves of love slosh and swirl around your wine glass, even if you like the Sainsbury’s basics best.
Ping, a basket through a red door, a yowl from a small cat.
Sky so piercing and blue you could stand on the edge of the window ledge and push off up into it.
One day you will.
70s disco overthrown by Robbie Williams and the Sugar Babes.
Blue cheese and cheddar rise and fall on a tide of prosecco as a miniature pink tumescence winks at you from the hall table – go on eat me.
With your brain dancing harder than you feet you face plant the pillow, settling down to thumping music and joyful screaming.
Love is in the air.
Ruptures in space and ideology
Words hurtle through the air
There is no real weight to them
But still they damage surfaces
Fissures form and breath catches
Eyes swell and mouths hang
Both have lost.
Lilac turning brown
Stiff with dirt
Fingers shifting over backs of hands
Squeeze a ball of wool
What’s in this box?
Dates and butter on white bread
Crumbs slide purposely to the floor
Out comes Henry
Dragging the weight up stairs
Do you want a bath or a shower?
The towels are just here
Run the hoover over green carpets
Crumbs and dust
A cup of tea
There are apples on the side there
Mottled orange skin
Sliding onto black felt
What’s in this box?
turning your ear
and hearing my words
Content and peaceful
we are sitting here
glass walls, ice drafts
branch to branch
slow but not awkward
Frames sealed in my mind
safety with you
Ice rests on my feet
better shoes, toe tapping, warmer socks
Buy books, and more
sagging rubber, sharp spokes
permanent puncture, squealing breaks
and boiled water
Radiators armed against the cold
seeps in across floors. Crack.
a stylus in a haystack
Wheeling down a grey stair
lemons tumble into a frame
a contented sigh.
Wings clipped before flight
Named before birth
Cut before blossoming
Coppiced before spring
Timed before beginning
Condemned before built
Suffocated before breathing
The sense of ending
Closing the curtains on a sun that might yet rise.