Twenty Seven

Don't know where it's going and when I do- the loose ends, stroked arms, back pockets, creases in jeans- dey get glances. Places I'm welcome but shouldn't stay. These are all the things I should't say. Never mind being loved- I can't leave untouched- if this isn't tied up- I'm going to want no strings- no matter what I say no matter what I say- I know what I want- when I take my jacket off- in a flat I've never had tea in- Converse slipped under coffee table. There's so much me in us- I can't afford to lose you- I’ve built escape routes- one plan tags me in photos at house parties-Likes lying- same- gets boring-state of mind is not minding.

A Chance at redemption- What am I if not a searcher. At twenty five years- All the things I said I was, I am now not. At twenty seven years- All I am is all I am and then I rot. Make life beautiful before life stops. Happy for a phone- you don't fear ringing- for the circling spoon stirring the tea. If you could give happiness a destination- make it a petrol station- we’re running on fumes- It's either hot box in your room- or stare stoned at the moon.

Summer's nearly over- Let's make the most of it- Camomile label dangles- last week I tripped and saw your face in sunflower wallpaper- told Ayesha about you- she said go for it- you ask how my girlfriend is- we’re breaking up. The joint ends- we stay in the garden. Staring out. Me phone clears it's throat Message glows. The wind's hands reach under my collar- press themselves against my back. Bout time I went home.