One Hundred and Seventy-Five.


Izzy circle


a thousand white horses ran out from under your hair this morning
turning the pillows into a pulpy mess
narrowly missing my eye
bolting straight out the window, down the street and across the sand
to turn back into sea foam and graceful crests
you rolled over quietly and kissed the outside of my eye
and the sea roared up the street
and climbed back into bed with us


Sarah circle


I can feel the sadness wobbling in you like a pyramid of jelly
It’s sitting there in the throwaway jokes that I heard once before
when the world toppled over and nobody stopped smoking for a week
I can feel it purring, cat-like in your chest
nuzzling up to your heart, whispering silvery nothings
about how unloved you are, you worthless piece of shit
And I have never quite discovered the right way to say
that I’d quite like to kiss you in a corner somewhere
before the sun comes up, stretching up on my toes
breathing in your big warm smell of smoke and of skin



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