Buscando

Today I felt.
A smooth,
numb,
silence.
A loneliness of sorts.
And I ask of the Unknown:
Is it you?
And I hope you miss me.

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Enano

There’s a poem in me today; I know it. There’s a poem about a smile which makes my chest ache and a corpse somewhere that barely resembles a body and a loss that I’ll never truly know. 

There’s a poem in me about a man that scares me and a nervous response that I regret each time it forces my face into a smile.

There are novels in me about lives unlived and restless staring at a blank sheet of paper as the stories fight amongst each other instead of preserving their selves.

There are worlds in me that you’ll never know and souls that I will never touch and lovers that will never meet without me. 

And yet I file away at the edges of the days until they are dull and blunt.

Ganar

I fell and I landed and the crash mat knocked all the air out of me. I swore and you laughed and dropped down onto your knees next to me and those big blue eyes refuelled my empty lungs. I swore again, although for a rather different reason, and you offered me a hand. You pulled me upright and pulled my head into your chest with both arms as I remembered how to breathe.

The smell of you was chalk and sweat and old rubber shoes and something else uniquely yours, and I counted each dose of it by the metronome inside your ribcage. As my breathing slowed, your grip loosened and your palms stroked my shoulders in a smooth, uninterrupted rhythm.

“Better?”

“Better.”

You pulled me to my feet and turned to face the wall, adorned with a rainbow of little rocks and numbers and scuff marks.

“Well quit slacking, then”, you said with a masterpiece of a grin painted across your face and I said I’d race you, and you gave me a slap on the arse and I gave you a punch in the arm. And you won, but when you looked me in the eye to gloat then I did, too.

Curiosa

The stranger in the mirror wears my clothes,
although they’re tighter on her.
My diamond hangs round her neck.
She has different eyes:
Soft grey; a touch of storm.
Clear and deep;
Their murky film washed away.
She told me her name once,
and I laughed.
It didn’t fit anymore.
The sadness tapers off,
and the stranger
is stranger still.