Lost Hours With Mae

I tried to think softly,

so as to leave no mark or imprint, 

so as to not sully, with sticky hands,

the nights and hours

spent with Mae.

~

But when I lay alone,

watching dead minutes

flake and fall

away from the walls of time

I thought of her, of Mae,

a lattice-work of bones,

a blossom of blisters

left with blunted teeth.

~

When I was starved

of faith and light,

I dreamed of the year when it rained in April,

of the penitents who cried

in the street,

of arcane pleasures

and dirty feet.

~

Searching for sustenance

through sepia tint,

all I am left with to assuage 

gnawing hunger,

are flashes of elusive curves,

fed on naught but

the bread and water

of weaning love.

~

the delicate dome of hoarded joys

falls around me.

Memories splinter,

cut and caress me.

No pristine collection

could escape the smear

of sluttish time’s persuasive thrill.

“Unsolicited drunk texts”

all is

teeming, throbbing 

as a clammy, sticky body

emerges from 

clamouring waves

of rippling flesh

to offer me a line

if i come with him, somewhere.

‘why are you telling me this I don’t want to hear this’

But somewhere never exists and

i’m lost and

i’m running

away

‘like you always do’

but without anywhere to run to

and my breath burns,

exhaled

from smoke-filled lungs

‘you never can leave it at one last cigarette’

and I realise,

gasping in the moonlight,

that all I am is a series of discordant notes and that we, we are an

interrupted cadence waiting a resolution, or to begin

again

10.

Shapeless

– barely sketched-in –

we dissolve.

remembrances refract

through crystalline eyes.

Images splinter,

and split in two

while my bare body

floats, 

numb in an unfeeling ocean.

9.

falling back 

 into wine-tinged daydreams,

my eyes graze 

 the arches of your body,

lingering

on the nape of 

your neck.

A hostile sea-breeze

pushes and pulls fruitlessly

at flimsy dresses.

Hands restless 

at my sides,

tongue and lips

 heavy .

The intoxicating early-morning light,

has me reaching out –

only to clasp at 

negative space.

Sunshine falls on dirty flesh,

ripe for dissection.