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your lips
my lips
apocalypse

how many times I loop
these words
during glistening rains
and suffocating tuesdays

we all have sub-plots
don't we

that we will never
think or stop thinking of
the stones we skip
across the mirror surfaces
of lakes and hearts

that are at once hate
and longing

paper kites

you traced routes
on the small of my back
coarse fingers
your atlas hands
painting their blues
making oceans of me
and leaving ships in my chest

the crazy that was my heart
and the things
left unsaid
in the long couple of seconds
I shut my eyes
against the storm
hitting my sky

cages we form
that I would happily
never breach

some have names
but most do not

nothing left but to leave

know that when I write you
in lower case
is when I'm feeling like
guitar strings when they
are listening to the
music silence weaves

many middles of spiral notebooks
have seen a sudden midnight inspiration
sleep stained haiku
that may never get discovered
they make a home
in dusty corners of my heart
using melancholy as hats

we'd often use buttery yellow
or the colour that night is
when moving towards resembling
wings of a dragonfly
on the walls of this house
the morning sun
nestling comfortably among
the dreams that left my eyelashes

you went rat-a-tatting
at my kitchen door
stood silent among my garden herbs