Ry’n ni yma o hyd
were you really the
vowel who said you’d roam alone
Not even NASA would find the last
breath you drew from my rib cage,
I’d whisper all night to your skin in Welsh,
if you wore scarlet ribbons in your hair
cascade my hands through red waterfall
would your president allow my love bites
to turn your neck and breasts purple?
Notebook #66 would you ever dream
yourself from McDonalds Americana?
The man who dives for pearls
has ‘Martian’ on his suit lapels
When I whispered verbs across
your neck, was it Spanish or French
consonants who tied you to my bed?
Where I’m from tender
is the name of a soccer hooligan;
darling, it is you
-annwyl ti ywdyw-
who turns chardonnay pillows
into vines, yards and dream making
and when poetry is ever prescribed
the smoking ambulance man medicated
dyddaf yn gofalu amdanochi chi,
don’t marry him, fuck me
Yma o hyd
are you wating too?
