unspoken word

I don’t actually like blondes
Or so I said
Or so I told myself
Or so I found myself
Internally repeating
As they

This pair of blonde women
Sort of together
But not really together
Not together together
not gifrlfriends
They were girl friends
(note the space in between)

it didn’t mean anything
The way they happened to be
dancing
together
moving with me
Trading glances
Trading me between
And We were only
dancing

And anyway
I don’t actually like blondes
Not generally drawn to fair skin
And light hair
And piercing blue eyes
And pouting lips
And hips drawing in closer on
Either side of me

Synthesising with
Intentions I don’t have
For blonde girls
Until Caught up in a game
I didn’t quite know
the rules of

I watched one walk off
gently push her friend
Closer in my direction
And presented with her
I met her eyes dead on
too drunk to be demure
emboldened by the last
Double of whiskey poured
I pulled her close
Bassline trembling
through my thighs to hers

As my eyes travelled
across her shoulder
And met those of her friend again
Who smiled in my direction
nodded encouragingly
while nearby
My friend looked on

I couldn’t quite
make out his expression
it was too dark and
he was too far off and
I wondered if this blonde duo
Thought he was my boyfriend
I attempted to smirk at him
raised my brows as if to
Mock the situation

Eventually
I excused myself
 walked over to him.
Leaving girl number one
Passing girl number two.
Smile, nod,
nod ,smile

Two pairs of  
piercing blue eyes
Two heads
tossing gleaming golden hair
Two sets of angled shoulders
Dropping into curved hips
Two pairs of endless
Denim legs

Two women that
Made me instantly
Drastically
rethink
This not really being into
Blonde girls thing.

My friend and I
ordered another round of drinks
And when I turned
And when I turned
In the brightness between darkness of strobing lights
I looked back
Saw my two blonde dance partners
Making out like mad….

So maybe they were kind of
Together?
I mean together together?
I mean like girlfriends?
(note lack of space in between)
I noted the lack of space  in between
them

girl number two
came back again
quickly closing
the space in between
her and me.
Girl number one watched on
appreciatively

And I sit here thinking
I sit here writing
I sit here writing and thinking
Why
Why
Why on earth didn’t I …
But then again
I mean generally
I don’t actually like blondes
Really…

I know  its not terribly 
 romantic To say this but

you’re the closed door

that I can handle

we’re the fucked up
I understand

you’re the one who keeps saying  no
while i keep hearing yes
You’re the morning after

That comes attached with

Breakfast and sex

You’re well intended

After-words

You’re dreams that I sometimes have

But don’t bother interpreting

You’re a particular coded kind of

Flirting

You’re a number I keep deleting

But  remember

You’re the phone call
I can’t help but pick up

You’re the book that I’ve read

That I keep re-reading

You’re the film I’ve
seen so many times

I can start at the middle 

You’re best avoided

and yet You’re this idea

I’m constantly toying with

You’re a distraction
 I’m better off Without

Like that woozy feeling

Of having drank too much

I’ve overdosed on obsessing over you

You’ve wasted my tme

i’ve complicated yours

You make me more

Hopeless than romantic

but what it comes down to is this
we’re the kind of fucked up
i understand.

I sent him a text…..

I sent him a question

“Are you the last thing I need?”

Immediately he replied

“almost certainly”
so a day later  I sent

“what is it about the word Almost

That always gets me into trouble?

He replied

“the first syllable”

so i thought about the first

meditated on the second

“is it really the all…? Or the most?”

and then I clicked send

I keep walking, its half past

Christmas party meltdown

Soho makes me feel like a ghost

every familiar street, bar, piece of graffiti

haunts me with some kind of memory

Where we kissed

Broke

Decided to have another go

I need a neutral land

I need a place free of connections

I want to be somewhere

As unknown to me as me to it

I want to be where the streets don’t

whisper reminders.

I want to be deaf to my own history

I want to meet people

who’ve seen none of my past

 

My phone went off again

…Another text

“you back?”

He asked

“I’m always back somewhere”

I said

And then he sent a longer answer

(sometimes he fancies himself a writer)

“so is everyone…

Back at home

Back from holiday

Back and forth

And over backward

Only the scale varies…”

 

and so i sent

“welcome back…”

And then

And then

And then there were no

further texts from him.

And I was left walking

only to pause for

no particular reason

On a street corner Considering

this tiny phone screen

trying my best to read

between our lines

When I am somewhere between
the duvet and a deep dream state
I am somewhat awakened
by the frenetic pacing
of her bare feet
bustling across my
wide pine floorboards

every day it mystifies
how she can be up so early
even though my version of early
some would call a rendition of late

and as much as I
like my own space
I also like her way of
filling it

its less like we’re friends
and more like
we’re sisters
the kind that get along
mostly

who giggle in bed
over absolutely nothing
who trade sarcasm
in a way that is
code for charm

bookended by
her distinctive laugh
and her occasionally brutal critique
of my films and poems

in the morning
with my eyes closed
she sounds like
a moth fighting with a lightbulb

for some reason
even half awake I like it
the silence of solitude
was always too loud for me
and i’ve never dealt well with quiet

and so as i navigate through
the mish-mash of
our makeup and accessories
i find myself

relishing the swishing
of her dresses
the clatter of
coffeecup and cafetiere

the constant persistant clicking
of her high heels
pacing with conviction
up and down my appartment

She broke my heart
while smiling
but she was so beautiful
it was moments before it hurt

that’s the problem
with being a poet
falling in love with impossibles
is something of a job requirement

as soon as she’ d realised her actions
she held my hand fast
apologised
said she hadn’t meant it
i was so lost in her eyes
it didn’t matter that she did

because love is a loaded term after all
broken hearts renew themselves
eventually
it all felt a bit metaphorical
totally fictional really

but even the most jaded
secretly wish for happy endings
romantics switch from swelling hearts
to those that require mending
but she
broke my heart
while smiling

and this has all been fictional
metaphorical strictly speaking
love is a loaded term after all
hearts repair themselves
eventually…

i admit
i have this way of lighting firecrackers
then looking confused
when the smoke emits
like a wide eyed child
unaware of her accident
i rarely act with thought of
consequence
i never expect anyone to take me seriously
when anyone does
i’m a little mystified
 i’m far more innocent
than most give me credit for

and I feel…
mixed up
like the change in my wallet
which is the foreign currency?
which is foreign?
which city am I in?
who can I call now?
who costs less to call?
who’s calling?

Oh sorry
the voice mail said
I thought you were still in London
I then read a text asking
if I was back in Berlin
an email asking when I’m back
back
I’m back to back
with two cities

all change
swap keys
swap partners
tick the next box
on your dance card

I was dancing to minimal techno
at a club by Treptow
before I left
three days later
I was dancing in a club in Old street
to minimal techno again
I said goodbye at the end of the night to my dj friend
four days later in Berlin
I said hello to him again

and there’s an ocean
there are borders
there’s a divide
but its laced with connections

I’m in
a german speaking country
but often i forget
because if my german fails
i’m questioned again
in english
but my german
felt trapped under my tounge
when i walked around London

and sometimes it seems like
wherever I am
I’m the other
the outsider
and yes its always been
a little bit that way
but London became home for me
definitively
I’d settled
and when the contract
was drawn up and ready to sign I
walked away…?

but the thing is
I settle quickly so
months later Berlin was home
and as I set about making it so
explaining to those
I was leaving behind
I returned here and felt
homeless again….
and I couldn’t tell you why but

I feel…. like
I’m on borrowed time
between the between
an oyster card
where my my bike key should be
or more like

the mixed up change in my pocket
which is the foreign currency?
which is foreign?
which city am in?
who do I call now?
who costs less to call?
who’s… calling?