The Photographer

It is the amber dawn that chases me as I wake before 6am once more and take my camera out to the field and set it up on a tripod and trepidation and make a harness for my morning in green thistle and thorn until you rise and I forget to click the shutter because you amaze me again with your beauty and before I know you’ve dispersed and I must wake again tomorrow before 6am to catch you in my camera’s eye.

Eyelids snicker

Eyelids snicker and flap open

laugh outwards

at me

and let eyeball twist in the skull

and fall back and round and forwards

and let the lashes lie flat

for a little too long

and flutter

as if to say something bigger

than the mouth can

 

Some **** from Preston

It is blistering my ears

high-pitched pig squeals

and then moth bitten hands

clasp beer and belly

and bumble like bees

smoke-clogged

and tarred, or barred?

down on her knees

giggle or grunt

at forgotten women

or not so much

forgotten

but beginning to forget

with each sip and peck

at pint and pie

like pigeon and fly

she is distant

and disgraced

so he can

have a good night.

Heritage

Steel totem

smog and snigger

at

puffy skies

that have

marshmallowed

and

bitter lungs

that are

coughing

and

spluttering

over

polluted pints

Texting him

1 –  I would kiss you with all my heart.

2 – You kiss with your lips darling.

1 – Oh. I thought you used your heart. It feels like I use my heart.

Five guys

We get caught in the rain

On Northumberland Street

Off-guard

Shoulders bare

T-shirts and jeans

And I begin to worry

That you’ll be agitated

Upset

But you’re dancing

Washed up

Body quenched

Hair wet

Shoes ruined

Sodden socks

Clothes clinging

Limbs singing

Salt and sweat

 

And I don’t think twice

About how I feel

Having you here

14/08/2017

My green drenched soil sodden toes

too warm too cold

and burnt dalmatian

find a home between your blind hands

and although your eyes see the damage

they feel, and feel nothing

and are truly blind

and the pressure

of your fingertip is homely

and the temperature is just right

Next Year

Months we spent savouring the subtle zest of sweat,

And the taste of patience sleeping in the gap between our lips.

 

Days we dedicated to burning each other’s limbs like kindling,

In fiery argument and fiery regret.

 

Hours we devoted to mapping each other’s faces,

Sketching past, present and future on cheek and chin.

 

Seconds we wasted blinking.

 

 

Autumn

I watch quietly as the fields turn from green to gold whilst the corn feeds on our shared air and the earth continues, ignorant to its own incredible normality. I pick a blade of grass and split it with my nail, and then again until I’m holding tiny slivers of emerald in my hand and the weight is almost insignificant. The wind forces the dusty green in my palm to scatter and I am thinking of a time before now when she and I would lay upon this very earth and discuss our passions as if we were selling ourselves to one another.