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I am dreaming of

night swimming in swimming pools

summoning undines glowing below

these flowing lines of salt and chlorine

while we tread water

the air turns our breath to steam

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I am so useless on overcast mornings; grey days make my brain cloudy.

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James brings me coffee in bed sometimes;
he kisses me even when I have coffee breath.

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I feel like I am slowly mouldering away. there is a thin layer of dust on everything even though we vacuum regularly. every time I brush my hair, tiny flecks of dust fly off and hover in the air

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my insides are swirling all around me, staining the ground and darkening the air

it doesn’t matter, I’m alone now, split open and beginning.

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TOOT SWEET; "TOUT DE SUITE"

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standing by the window wearing mourning colours, drinking sunlight through golden eyelids

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I ran, I am sitting, I breathed, I open, I will run (I didn't run)

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I am going to put my chin in a glass of water on the windowsill until my chin hairs grow long and thick and white and then plant myself in the garden and be free

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I can stand in a patch of sun or I can lay face down submerged in a pillow or I can watch my flowers die a little bit or I can rub my tired eyes and make my fingers oily with eye cream

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here I am in shatters
shards and sharp ends
going to pieces on the kitchen floor

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maybe I will drink fourteen coffees and stand in the cool air on the balcony

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maybe I will drink fourteen coffees and stand in the cool air on the balcony

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sometimes I sit so long with milky-white gloom dripping down onto me that I become a stalagmite; I grow craggier and less human-shaped every day.

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now I can press my fingertips to my skin and see the sun was there

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now I can press my fingertips to my skin and see the sun was there

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you can
fill your
self with empt
iness and feel whole for a mo
ment

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this viscid fog that sticks to me
I open wide and pierce with ice

on sunday nights I rattle like
a wild thing, scratch till I bleed

I map the hills and hollows of
my bones and push all my lumps in

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I sit; I stay up late; I read the news; I wear a mask to check the mailbox; I can't focus on TV shows; I drink too much wine; I forget to call my mum; I kiss my partner, open-mouthed and desperate, in a way that means “I cannot live without you”; I make coffee; I sit.

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these days, I am
always undressed
pale halos
circle fingers
the absence of
my usual rings

does saturn know
his rings will soon
become the rain?

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we let things slide

so I am

hiding

in a coat of

dust I am

undone

in plain sight on

a high shelf

waiting

for the perfect

time that will

not come

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in boom years, this chain of habits
saliva sugared from an apple
a spray of flowers in
the soft corner of my eye
gold on the wall and a whisker of branches

in quiet times, a suffocating grey
cold coffee in a faded mug
wrapped in a blanket
afraid to fall through the earth
untethered from this plane

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In and out
We’re drinking too much
In, in, in

I am in and without
So I open the window and
Press my mouth to the screen
Fill my lungs with it
In, out

When you are out
Gathering supplies for us
I wait until
I can hold you in again

Press my nose to your jacket
Fill my lungs with it
Out, out, out

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I can fill my cup
and water down
my sense of self
or drink from amethyst
swallow air and swell
both cups, to me
leave a sour taste

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delicate like soft-pink tissue paper

heavy like fine, wet sand

yesterday’s waves

left behind ripple marks

these shining lines trace

the ways I have grown

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can you hear
the idling train
murmuring?
the end of the line
is neither here nor there
like glass, like us
between states of matter
with nowhere to go
awaiting a signal
to turn around

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the finer points

of a rain-dotted footpath

a heavy shoulder bag

the smell of the dumpling shop

is hot and sweet

and the dust

from the construction site

has a metallic taste

or maybe it is peppery

wet tanbark and gum tree leaves

some things used to mean so much

and don’t mean anything now

there is the white cat again

on her back in the fading light

humid and dim, dusty and damp

the clouds part

by the level crossing

and we part, too

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we gravitate, room to room
and catch the light as it moves
window to wall, to floor, to door
boil water for something to do

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your turn of phrase, agonises
learning our lines
beneath vines of ivy
twisting words, climbing
life and limb, forgotten

blink and you’ll miss me
listening in and lifting spirits
home after midnight
find the bed by phone light
thinking long and hard of it

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a daytime moon is a sign

the full moon will soon arrive

it’s getting cold outside

and inside, too

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it has a tangible quality.
your hands out like a water diviner; a cleric reading last rites

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I am trying to be okay
I am trying
I am

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a warmth beaming out of the deepest place in my chest

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She told me, it should taste like the ocean

So I set our places at the table

And motioned him to sit, to stay

A mouthful, a shame, and he went his way

She told me, don’t spoil your appetite

So I sat, and sipped, and frowned

And it doesn’t taste like anything now

A year, a month, a day

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I want you
to love me with misty eyes
wine-warm and hungry
our blurry outlines
making angles in the dark

I want you
to find me in the shower
on a clear morning
kiss me wet and long
our bodies gliding
coming alive in the water

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the cloying scent
of their cologne
a leather jacket
drowning in it

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I will slip our love letters between the floorboards of our house, to endure

while others, unaware, tread above

our handprints papered over

until the faded walls are peeled away

by curious fingers, pressing their hands atop our shadows

wondering, who lived here?

and we will answer in creaks and groans as the house breathes in and out

our silhouettes flickering in motes of light and dust

to be caught in the corner of an eye

everlasting, softly, our memory sheltered here

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there is a miracle inside you
aching to be heard
to debut, again
listen,
this melody
cannot be stopped

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I want to become the sort of person who keeps cut flowers; as a romantic gesture to myself