For the gap
For the gap
Sit by me and ask what I think about the colour of, buses.
Tell me a time you did an embarrassing sneeze
what makes you go to sleep
the books you'd like to burn
the ways you’ve worn.
Sit and talk of days
in half breaths of half sense-
dogs we saw jump houses
radiators that character leak desks that pile with fingernail rind and tights and oranges
and roads that were circles, and people that were puppets
and bottles that turned out to be ships.
We can talk of tandem prams,
and panicking breast pump fixes
how you watched rain race down windows
while you made loops of you to offer comfort.
We can talk of office tapas parties with pinatas that would not split,
well- paid promotions, emails signed kind retards
weekends that cloud shift into horse heads
and wood walks, and kisses against concrete.
We can talk of hanging weightless over continents,
your urine spraying oceans in frozen chips
while your heart heads on for business.
Let’s talk of content -
and names we gave weight, the spirit level tip of the test to positive that ship wait that lasted, the broom cupboard smell of ending.
We can talk of drawers stuffed with receipts
for things we won’t take back.
Hopes we can’t cash
the shadow puppets we trace with our lips.
We can talk of leaving flowers
ways to walk away and lift our faces
we can let go of balloons and laugh as burst open on branches.
We can tumble streets,
and meet pissing behind wheelie bins
and when we hear the chorus, these boots are made for walking
and that is just what they will do.
We will sit down by you, and ask what you think about the colour of buses.