by Lucy K. Shaw
The taste of red bull in the morning
on my teeth when I haven’t brushed them
The shape of your back when you
crouch over your computer in the night
The feeling in my chest when you say
you are going to meet someone from tinder at 1pm
The feeling in my chest when you say you are going to meet someone
I have to be leaving in order to feel okay being here, I say
In order for you to feel okay
being with me,
we agree
I will complete this isolation-induced superiority complex
You will remember how it feels to live without me
You will die this summer, you say. That’s okay,
I was just thinking the same thing, about the both of us
it is looming, we notice, a little lower than ever before
it is looming, we notice, but we couldn’t call it unexpected
And so together now in this forest of London
I tell you about the drinking tickets of Barcelona
I tell you about the prostitutes in the park of the Paris rain.
You tell me about the email your mother sent to your ex-girlfriend,
five years ago when you broke up
And when I meet her for the first time later tonight,
wearing the same shoes, mine will be much dirtier,
but we couldn’t call it unexpected
I have been looking for a new pair of shoes ever since
I have been looking, vaguely, for a new pair of shoes
that make any sense
for the both of us.
If you come near me, there is a safari park,
If you kiss me, we are already dead
And I can feel you inside of your head
when I couldn’t before
I can feel you inside of your head
when I couldn’t be further away
from wanting it, anyway
you feel relatively certain
we are not the answer
to each other’s issues
And it’s not even a possibility
but we await nervously anyway
Hopefully, some days
for the blood to confirm
the end
It gives us both some
body else to think about