Despite the bubbling meat of
chat between us, the
inexplicable way we start
chewing facts and cannot
stop making correlations in our
tastes, you’re digging for a
wishbone to pull together so
you can pray for escape from this
block headlines hostage situation.
We just get hungrier,
dig deeper in.
Despite the support we’ve
provided each other, the
flesh hook fingers
dragging each other out of
manholes, the common
clunk trip of scuffed shoes on
city pavements don’t send us
sailing towards the cushion of
each other. The bone-shattering
occurs. You bite down on your
lip without the comfort of anaesthetic.
Despite the rules I was told,
the modern facts I think I know,
the way things should be,
I don’t find you attractive.
Tomorrow you’ll get the train home.
Next week you’ll tell your friends
I’m a hypocrite and an arsehole.
Today I’ll beat you to it.
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