Assorted Poems

Morning lovers (a somonka)

I woke up early,
I watched your face as you slept,
your eyelids flickered
and I wished to dream with you
but I waited patiently.

Warming the darkness,
your heartbeat radiated
to tell me softly,
that if I was to wake up,
I would smile back at your smile.





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Laughing it off

I laughed it off when you told me you were dying.

In my smile lay gaps, sticky holes, where I’d eaten too much sugar
where the dentist skimmed over.

I laughed until my stomach convulsed,
it spasmed like the final spin
of a washing machine
and I rumbled.

I laughed until I cried.
You were the one with the tissue.
I tore it up and made it snow 
on to the carpet
and let the snot dribble down
until I sniffed.

I laughed with my hand
covering my mouth.
It echoed- you covered your ears-
I thought of shells.
I started to crunch them
between my teeth
to make sand, a beach,
a saliva-sea.

And all the while
you lay deathly still.





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To face the day

The effort it takes
to open the lid-
let light bring its necessity
(its urgency)
So hard to ignore the seeping warnings-
dripping in like drops of dew
spilling on your morning.

The stones you break
as you surrender- to say-
that this is just another blueprint day
Clogged up with aftertaste 
of some shook-up dream
The snow settles at first alarm
and the glass is gone to air.

The effort it takes
to get up
dress yourself
to hide naked truths-
they seer at dawn,
wane with the climbing hours,
disappear at midnight,
when you are stripped again.






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Restaurant Dining

I ate too much pork fat.
I felt sick in the taxi, slumped forward,
too full of red wine and roses.
Too rich for one evening-
you treated me like you always do-
I forget the gentle way you care about things
the careful cogs that turn in you.

I mirrored you- uncertain-
showing what cracks look like on a person.
I mustered shy,
whispered in hoarse tones
to turn on the taps.

‘I miss you’ I said
to the future you.

We projected ourselves
onto balconies in Berlin
sky high with the washing line
drinking coffee
yours black, mine white.

I complained,
you bounced back with something soothing.
You attempted to soften me,
smooth the creases,
warm me like an iron.
In essence, in vapour.
In a warm bath sculpted
by our desire to fuck.

When my rawness is cooked through,
tell me,
I can be your restaurant muse.