Cobwebs
I collect cobwebs like candy floss in the corners of my room which clears the way for something new
I’ve left lovers everywhere and more seem to accumulate, collecting in crevices and cracks
Lodged in the heels of my boots which clack clack clack, upon cobblestones and tube carriages.
I wish, like in wet concrete, I could leave impressions in hearts and not just cities I’ve loved.
I’ve lit incense as an aphrodisiac, and as a means to purge the sensations of fingertips tracing the line between my hip and my rib cage. I wince as it hits that tender spot, and always, softly, in the darkness it stings with the anticipation of disappointment. Oh how I wish I could be more trusting.
Because as you lie there viewing my side profile (but only my left side because that’s part of the performance) there are a hundred or so miles of distance between us, and I can barely hear your voice as it stretches out in the space, I’m reaching towards you but I can’t find you, even with the light creeping under the door frame.
And just like talent, there is too much beauty in the world and I’m wondering when you will realise that, and spring up from your place in the bed leaving an imprint in the sheets, still warm to the touch, for me to touch, to dream, to wonder.