unspoken word

the first time i stepped in
to the bunker with no buzzer
i thought
this might be world’s smallest room…
but he didn’t have much
so there was more than enough
room to move in but
it seemed no matter
how we passed one another

it was impossible
 not to touch…
not in a way that was
intentional
definitely always accidental
our arms and shoulders
brushed
sized  one another  up
maybe even flirted with
the idea of more intimate contact

this was a protected space
scorpions tales crossed at the gate
and there we spent
a full day, a full on full day
and the evening aftermath
i complained that the bars
in hackney didn’t stay open
late enough

and bought myself a flask of
jack daniels
from the corner shop
as consolation.
and when we came back
nothing really happened

well there was a lot of talking
about all sorts of things
but mainly relationships and then
i think we traded notebooks
teased one another over
the heiroglypics we used
masquerading as handwriting
nothing happened
but that room felt
charged with something

months later
i lingered outside that same
graham road grey door
waiting to enter
stepped up the stairs
and though it still may have been
worlds smallest room
on this day it  amazed
how we consistantly
navigated the spadce
so no matter how we passed one another
there was definitely no chance of
touching.

and i still felt protected
by the scorpions at the gate
but maybe not quite as
relaxed as the time before
this time it felt like
there was just enough room for
us and our alteregos
perhaps some space left oveer
for the lives we were leading outside
both more than a little preoccupied
with the thoughts of
and the hours didn’t pass quite as fast

and when we finished
i made no complaints
about bars not being
open late enough
i was long gone before
closing times
leaving me to run and catch busses
and center my mind on
the concept of “space”

the space we occupy
the space we let someone into
the space in my head
that i so often share
with total strangers
but sometimes struggle to explain
to those that i intimately know

the space two flights up
from this unmarked
graham road grey door
to the bunker with no buzzer
the safe haven for a poet
and the space he fills
the space he choose to share

the space between our meetings
the space underneath
what is said
and what is left unspoken
guarded by scorpions
tales crossed at the gate…