Due to a monumental fuck up on behalf of my real estate i have no hot water until Monday. This means my options for bathing include cold showers during Brisbane’s autumn or baths filled with hot water boiled on my stove which takes approximately an hour to fill.
Someone should take me away for the weekend and provide me with running hot water (and tea and wine and fresh fruit and a fire and good music and mass cuddling).
I feel myself dying in you, overtaken by expanding spaces, which feed on me just like hungry butterflies.
I close my eyes and i’m laid out in your memory, barely alive,
With my mouth wide open and the river of oblivion rising.
And you, patiently, with needle nose pliers, pull out my teeth, my eyelashes, you strip
The clover from my voice, the shade from my desire,
You open up windows of space in my name
And blue holes in my chest
Through which the summers rush out in mourning.
Transparent, sharpened, interwoven with air
I float in a drowse, and still
I say your name and wake you, anguished.
But you force yourself to forget me,
And I’m barely a bubble
Reflecting you, which you’ll burst
With the blink of an eye.