Today’s theme: disco blood.
I want to be everywhere, do everything, be everyone with you.
I want to see the dark side of the moon.
get low and tell me when the dust gets in your eyes.
aim high and hold the light crashing through leaves like a prayer.
roll like you are the biggest wettest wave.
I’ll meet you in the middle.
There are twine-twisted glances between me and my stumblings and the blue-collared nape of your freshly mown neck
Endings eddy and burst like oil in a swimming pool and shatter downwind of your blistering steps
I am bloated with feeling
I am choking on starlight
I am warm to the deepest gold seams of my veins
Today’s theme: excellent.
I will hold your hand at the end of the world, even if it was more practical to be sheltering myself from oncoming asteroids or fending off zombies or holding onto dry land when the water’s rising
if I am the map, then you’re where ‘X’ marks the spot
if there’s something to get, then you’re what I’ve got
under rays that beat like reverberating bass, you’re my cool breeze
in reverberating bass, you’re the knocks in my knees
if the world was ever a whole and untouched place
it hid itself somewhere in the lines on your face
outside the light, you’re the milky guiding glow
in the milky mad nexus, you’re what I know
I will almost always choose to do the impractical but wonderful thing and I will love things that are broken but beautiful
Legs flapping like fish in a feeding frenzy, spokes whirring, wind gliding off your face smoother than a skincare ad
sun peeping-tom peering up over the treetops ready to bound across the inky sky
being kissed more times than you thought you would be, til your lips go purple and golden and glittery
dogs skittering on polished floorboards, grinning like daisies, tongues sticking out the side
butterflies living their couple of days on a path where you happen to be walking
owls being patted on the head
high fives that just work out
people pushing trains off stuck passengers
babies cackling like old men
your heart exploding over the smell of summer
mushrooms cooked in butter
stars in the country
running just because, in a race against time, winning just for a second, getting a tiny moment ahead of everything
Today’s theme: Christmas.
if I was a gift, would you open me?
unwrap my spine, prise apart these ribs
tear off all the cladding
pull apart the padding?
On the video, I laugh at the exact same time as you do, but I’m closer to the microphone, so my voice takes over yours, my throaty hoarse ‘ha’ sounds from your lipsticked mouth. Maybe that’s why I think that you’re happier than you’ve been in years.
Today’s theme: beards out of context.
Marilyn Monroe with a bushman’s beard
Margaret Thatcher with bum fluff
The Mona Lisa with a respectable 5 o’clock shadow
The Venus de Milo with neckbeard
Marie Antionette wizened with a Gandalf the Grey
Kim Kardashian sporting a little goatee
One single stray hair was curled, umbilical, on the splashback tiles behind the bathroom sink as I absently scraped the day’s shit from my tongue and spat it down the plughole. I left the faucet running while my gut sucker-punched itself into submission, and I roared for air, the way kids do when they’re winded for the first time and they don’t think they’ll ever breathe again. I hated my hardest at that string of cells that made up that single dead strand of your beard hair, the same hair that had tickled my nipples on hot summer nights and caught the taste of my cunt on dozy sleep-in mornings, that mess of flattened flakes of keratin that crept past your upper lip and kissed your teeth even when you wouldn’t kiss me. I stared at it, black against the badly grouted tiles, with my stomach cementing and the toothpaste congealing. With the fluoro light flickering and the shower steam condensing. With the knowledge that I’d never clean it off, not until time and heat dried it out and desiccated it and sucked it up the exhaust fan and into the wind.