unspoken word

I couldn’t believe my luck when he walked in
I know its embarrasing but i’ve got this weakness for hipsters

Particularly
the extra tall, extra skinny, skinny jeans and glasses wearing kind
But all that aside He was cute, charming And it was almost alarming
how all of our favourite bands,films and fine artists agreed
Our cultural interests  winking at one another as if to say
the deal is done

his forties army coat and braces flirting with my vintage fox fur and heels
after three or four or five drinks we sauntered over to the pub that
vice magazine owns

and watched some unsigned band we were both sure we had heard of
and then i felt his fingerless glove brush across my neck and we were kissing
it was wicked until we broke apart and he said (in his cute kent accent)
that he had been excited about our date because i was this

hot BLACK chick

and its not that it wasn’t a compliment  exactly. maybe what bothered me
is that the word he most emphasised was
Black

I think he got it, because he quickly added that
that made me something of a  *commodity* on “our” scene
and until that moment I hadn’t actually noticed
until that moment it didn’t really matter

but now the label *commodity* hung somewhere between
my bootleg chanel and american apparel and sure enough i was the only
black girl in a room of something like sixty

“you see” he said, and I nodded
and i wished that  we hadn’t stopped kissing
or maybe that we hadn’t left the last bar

or maybe at least  if i was some kind of
badge of chic cultural diversity that he could have
kept it to himself

so i could have left feeling that I was “hot”
not
a “commodity”…

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…

he said that he never calls anyone by accident
well we were on the phone two hours long distance
when he was off his face on salvia
i guess it was… sweet?
in a fucked up kind of way
it took me back to the days of highschool

when i was the favoured girl of a friend
who liked to get off his head on acid
daily calls occured around midnight
when i was tucked up in bed
he’d speak for hours…
the lack of sleep didn’t help me
in algebra class
but it didn’t matter
the conversations were worth it

now let me make a proposition
to all of you, now
promise me this
next time you’re pissed
poised to drunk dial
go ahead and do it

only
promise me
promise me this
you will not
regret it
you will not take back
what you said or did
in fact
you’ll stand by it

from this moment lets make a pact
admit that what you said intoxicated
was not so far from fact
and its rarely that
you didn’t really mean…
its far more like
you generally wouldn’t say…
from now on my friends
know this is okay
we drink and take drugs
for more reasons than recreation

the substance is merely
social facilitation
and the easier said truth
is eerily close to honesty
so from right now
promise me
you all must promise me this
recognize that regrets
are meaningless

you kissed her
thats fine
you fucked him
its not disaster that you did
you said…

‘i love you’
now think about this
even ‘under the influence’
perhaps
you meant it…