How does the sun say goodbye,
withdrawing its light away
from the soil, the sea, the grass,
all things it kissed in the day
with a shrug of its shoulder
as if it is casual to depart? It doesn’t.
Do I ever stop and not think of you?
You are like hair, tangled and knotted
‘round my head.
there’s a girl out there.
I could tell you all about her;
how her hair is always tied back at the same height each day.
how she can recite pi to it’s hundredth decimal as if it is engraved into her skin,
how the freckles on her nose form a perfect 90 degree angle with the ones on her cheek
and her eyes are hex colour #683011.
I could tell you that her hair curls like a double helix and she has constellations
on her back that Galileo would be jealous of.
she is an equation, an algorithm, a perfect mathematical formula.
but how can someone so logical
be so unsolvable
Cheeky words that bubble and squeak,
tart like the dish, do not suit me-
They are plastic pearls against the
And so, so, so on-
choosing peace and joy
is not [always] a happy affair;
it sometimes requires acknowledgement;
to feel, not fear
pain, and to carry on,
sound and determined;
there is work involved
in a choice like
that, and sometimes
they say that all air is recycled air;
that the oxygen I’m breathing right now could have been
the final breath that stuck in Kennedy’s throat,
or Marie Antoinette’s last sigh.
it’s comforting to know
that I am never really alone;
I’ll always have history rushing to my cells.
But it’s the middle of the night when I’m loneliest.
so I take a deep breath,
and wonder if the air in my lungs
still holds traces of you
(cause I’ll hold my breath forever to keep you with me)