Monday, 12 March 2012


My toe is always drawn to
the most treacherous of waters
Why can we not just sit
on your porch with our wine
and talk of something banal
like petrol prices, or the weather?

Every breath stops me from dying
And there you sit, splendorous
As I wonder what God is
and (whatever it may be)
Why I always find myself
neck-deep in deuterium
when I don't know how to swim.

Don't throw me a rope.
Let me thrash this out.
Let me see if I can
lose you in the waves.
Let me see if the mirrors we carry
can show me what we look like.
Let me see if we were
at all, meant to be.


Aporia said...

Oh, you nearly make me suffer.

Dreaminglass said...

The less suffering there be, the better.