Stay inside me

(I hope Annest won’t mind that I used the structure of her poem, Milk, to help me write this. It’s probably an average poem but replacing words from another’s work can be the kickstart I need. I find structure difficult and Milk’s so effortless that it sang to me.)

 

This sunshine reminds me of her

swimming to the bobbing buoy

among jellyfish and eels

then home, placing eggs in the shade

as butter leaks at their side

scrubbing growths from wounds

that aren’t there

 

Breaks of hot urban 
filth

in desperately hip hotels

letters opened, unsent thoughts,

loneliness as we lied together,

then diversions with Hyde

flirting
 in legion dives

empty but for the disease

of bottles, gear 
and business

 

She was the girl with skin like a Geisha’s

pure and unscented as a Kyoto crypt

mahogany silk tucked behind her ears

timeless as a Yoko Ono stare

black eyes on polished porcelain

and a promise to make dreams come true

 

I was the lost little boy she chose

27 to her 22

so we danced up a dazzling storm

skipped to crisp white cloth

at the best tables in the swamp

the wine, the taste of her

 

Then came the charging horses

riding in the sky as we came,

‘stay inside me’,

those deadly words

nails dug into my buttocks

feeding on saliva

and the terrible thing

I let her do weeks later

 

After that we went to Whitechapel

saw a film on birth by Bill Viola

but I was still that lost little child

snuck out for a fag

when tears rolled over her cheeks

couldn’t blame her for doing it

her family has history with bedlam

 

She forgot me but I never forget her

always thought

my girl with skin like a Geisha’s

would crack, that I’d be there

waiting in the last of the sun

to put her back together,

but she’s fine.