Eros & Philia

For S

Your elegance, fluid movements of a dancer,
& your hair
                                    flowing in the wind.

The city lights conspiring to hide
the cold shimmer of starlight from our eyes;
walks together: a flower & it’s thorns,
sharing our thoughts, secrets, fears
                                    & feelings,

each the other’s mirror
using silk to remove any marks that
prevented us from seeing clearly &
the resulting electrostatic charge
binding us together.

                                    All of this
& more
is a gift,

and every poem I give you
is an attempt to make amends
for being only this
                                    unremarkable,

                                        undeserving mammal

you’ve chosen.

Anamnesis

So many rooms in so many houses;
spaces within which the walls have waited,
        unseeing,
            uncaring,
as I played various roles
in minor dramas,
some of my own devising,
        some not,
    & most
being incomplete.

I often forget the lines & sometimes
those of my own design
are the ones most easily forgotten…

So many days wanting to stay away
from this mess,
        this reluctance;
a daydream
of purposeful action
        that abandons me
            with every movement
around the Sun.

The fragility of everything; entropy
    seemingly inevitable
            & us,
                the animal
that will not be itself,
capable of knowing this all;

when words emerge to seek
a story worthy of
    acknowledging that beneath
        every surface

something waits to be
            misunderstood
        is
either serendipitous or fucked up:

The choice is yours.

The choice is mine,
           
        & I
            cannot decide…

A dream I think I once had

You smoked a cigarette beside me
in the passenger seat of my car
in the dark, in the park one night

a lifetime ago.
 
You said: “We are born,
we do stuff
& then we die.

That’s all…

I wish I could, but
I just can’t make myself care
that much anymore…”

Spectral blue curls billowed out
from between the clumsy teeth inside
of your beautiful mouth,
& attempted to dance with those lengths
of false-coloured hair
you absently caressed.

You had an affinity for dysfunction,
you told me:

“I thrive among the broken things”
 
& I remember thinking
that it was fucked-up
how much I wished I was more fucked-up
than I already was.
 
I wanted too much:

I wanted your love.

Nothing else seemed important,
not the the future, not improvement,
not hope
or the vast tracts of free & unfettered time
that lay before us.

Eventually,
I drove you home.

Nothing much had happened
yet somehow it still felt significant.

After you had left me, as
I sat staring into the darkness,
the smell of smoke & your presence
lingered

& I was overcome
by sensation so intense,
that all that has followed since

feels like dull disappointment…

 

(This story is fiction, only the stories that composed it are true)