The last man I loved
made me a dream catcher
of dental floss and blonde hair.
This is him, the last of him. We’re driving
through a phlegmy drag of days. Stealing
rayon rose petals from damp motels
to stitch into his coat.
He digs his fingers into my knee.
In the middle of a fake orgasm
I find myself
And I’m ugly.
Dusty light from the motorway
curls around our toes. I’m so nervous
I get up to pee with my eyes still closed.
He pulls me back and traces the swirly scars
across my arms. Pink and purple with
edges of red.
They look like galaxies!
Don’t be so stupid.
He strokes my hair and slowly forces my
eyelids open. In my head I’m not really here
I’m listing all the awful things I’ve done.
Picking at my body vein by vein
until he pulls me together like a flesh bouquet.
He talks about politics and doing
acid in Austin and I get so lost
I forget to breathe.
Sorry I’m rambling
No, it’s OK. Continue please.
I imagine cutting him open.
Displaying his lovely organs
in jars across my windowsill.
Lungs and liver and heart
marooned in moonlight.
He pulls over and puts his head on my shoulder
and I hug him in a way that’ll make him
think I mean it. I want to tell him how great
he is but my tiny umbrella
words can’t even begin to cover him.
We’re in a car park in Sicily
And I’m faraway from dying. Nicotine bugs
glow like stars begging for connection.
It’s better than TV.
I touch your neck and the skin behind you ear.
Angel, don’t forget to take your meds.
I suck my fingers and trace the inside of your eyelid.
Why is everything so fucking big?
I’m touching all the parts that make us different.
Remember when [blank] washed up on the beach
And people crowded round to take photos of the [blank]
And [blank] made it to the local news?
I still find it hard to write about you
But everything I write is you.
I find your name in a trickle of piss
In blood between my teeth
And all across my hash marked thighs.
I hoped in secret small secret dosages
that I’d love you forever
But loving someone doesn’t make you die any less.
I wonder why I still see you in the fog?
I wonder if your dog misses me?
Heal yourself on someone else, they say
It hurts, they say.
But it’s safe.
Together and alone we book
hotel rooms in the city we
live in. Because I like touching
all the anonymous objects.
The dressing gowns, the desks, the
Bibles next to the bed. Objects
that don’t belong to anyone.
I get drunk on phantom
On Baudelaire’s horrible burden of time.
At parties people whisper when you look away
What’s it really like being with him?
I steal umbrellas from restaurants
I’m hardly a catch myself.
You read your book out loud
to the people who disappeared.
At dawn I’m so small I fit between the folds of your belly.
The sky’s about to drop bin bags full of
water and ash. I’m having a panic
attack. You remind me to breathe and my
breath leaves my body like a flock of birds
leaving a tree.
I almost believed love this time
But I’m just too good
at burning alone.
Baby, someday someone is going to [blank] you.
I’m sorry I left your house early.
And I’m sorry I’m never coming back.