No one belongs in my
dreams more than you,
crush my burning lips like ashes
lust is the crematorium’s encore
everyone a whore to skin and bone
At end of Brighton Pier
we shared a bottle of cheap wine
whip’lashed heads upon shoulders
like sniper bullets shrouded in Sinatra
There was no poetry behind her navy dress
only her finger-walk between breasts
breeze ripple between thighs
and the way she laughed every fifteenth breath.
It was not poetry, but the death
of the words I never said
The sun retreated to angles
too obtuse to turn twilight into silver’ed
hues of mistress upon my mattress,
setting as empty hotels with ‘No Vacancies’
stringed pearl-bombs across desire harbours
When cancer was just a constellation
‘Still Born’ were a Seattle grunge band
my heart’s nation
roamed across borders,
immigrant to imagination and Domesday
Book compressed into three decades.
Life can be messages
trapped in answering machines
I lean and they are leaned upon
by cases, boxes and notebooks,
moving on must be easy
for those who travel light?
Requiescat in p(l)aces never visted,
I dreamt about her last night
and fell out of bed twice,
will I ever see her naked
on bed sore knees
in front of me?
It feels like something dark & beautiful, harsh & haunted. There is an aching eloquence in your style, the denial of poetics within the poetry, “death of words I never said” comes from a place of quiet sadness, like the type of sadness that makes you feel it but never lets you cry it out.
With creative writing, I enjoy the written interactions of people and how it is shared with others. This write of yours is exactly that reason why. It has a brutal last kiss aspect to it, albeit with the longing lingering like the moisture on the lips from it.
Don’t ever shirk from expressing yourself in writing this way. Eagles have heartbeats.
Powerfully penned, Rob. This is an amazing write with many layers my friend. Excellent work as always. Appreciate you.
Damian
this is a test comment … can you tell me if you see this!?!?!?
thank you