By Paul

Would it really be nice if we were older?

I think no.

I don't mind waiting so long.

My Night Sky

It had drawn a line across my sky
And when I turned, there was another
Splitting it into a magic 4 and
telling me that everything was
going to be just fine.

Based on 'Mattens', by George Herbert

I can't open my eyes,
Yet you're already there to catch
my morning soul and sacrifice:


So, Mine, what is a heart?

Silver, or gold, or precious stone,
Or star, or rainbow, or a part
of all of these things,
or all of them in one?


What is a heart?

That you should look at it
and pour upon it all that you have,
as if you had nothing else do?

Teach me your love, Oh Mine;
that this new light, which now I see,
May both the work and workman show:
That by a sun-beam I will climb to you.

All these things

Hmpfh.

All these things are literally making
me forget to put detergent in the
washing machine
,
rinsing my clothes but not cleaning them.

Trying, rinsing my Self too
of
all these things, but not cleaning it.
Not cleaning me.

I'm just warmer now.
Warmer and smelling like ylang ylang.

On crying.

When is the exact point
---> .
that those tears you sob
become dry? And with
that, you feel better?
Like a star ---> *
?

Autumn

Greys like Rimmel, and
dark blue like home, and
with that cherry blossoming
like me blushing, I'm
wondering whether...

That Man

He is Off-Peak.
(Maybe even Super Off-Peak.)
Suited, never a nice word,
never those yellow roses.
Next time. Always a
next time.
And it would be ironic,
anyway; him and me at the station.
Maybe I'd do it then.
Wave him off and pretend,
so that he'd not know it was
the last time.

The way to say he wouldn't be
at my wedding.

Illusions of a Detox

There I am
In this lovely haze of lemon and fresh ginger
seeing things because I am empty.
That little flash in the corner
is
a dog.
I thought it was a dog. But it flew into my eye so maybe it was just _.
So tired too that it's easier to be a misfit and lie
in bed with more ginger.
Talking but not recognising the words that are coming out. They are a puzzle.
A puzzle that even me in my empty world can't work out. Maybe the noise is flying around too, into my ears, my eyes, my cup.
Endless sodding cups.
And then to go so erratic, trying to breathe but all of them hyper, and then I was smiling in my empty side. Smiling that I was doing this to try and feel better, and laughing to myself that I was seeing imaginary puppies.

Blinking twice as much, because it was only then that I realised the ground I had been walking on was flowers.

Please

Let me be. Let me ask.
Alright?
We want bizarre, not crazy.
So be with me.

Even though you have different coloured eyes,
I can still see him through you.

Strange in a good way

I have such a great thrilling happy.

William, it was really nothing.

So, he left.
He's set himself on fire,
burning those bridges so that
no-one can follow him.
It's like Jumanji, but a bit more
Hoxton Square.
(Can you fight crocodiles in a Tweed?)
So, he's gone.
...because to him it was the only way of saving his ability to love again, to stop him looking like a ghost, to get colour back, to respect.

You there!
With your funny little á's and ř's,
and your 'yes's being 'no's,
and that girl's mASSIVE hat -

Can you stop putting sugar
in my coffee?

Or is that Me there?
swapping č's for ç's...
and oh! It's no wonder I'm getting lost...

What are YOUR top words?

yay to new love because today is ever.

Remarkable.

We two are at home in a room with no other.