I opened my heart to you.
And a lie fluttered out.
Scrawled in a frail hand on its gossamer wings,
Words in this order,
“Let’s be honest.”


Lovely, Lovely, Lovely

It’s all very well and good to go for an Indian meal.

But the really important part will come afterwards, at the full, slightly chilly stage where photos are taken by a canal and people in heels prove their extraordinary jumping skills.

And then when the friends walk home loudly and perhaps tunelessly singing les mis songs (to the disgust of the less avid fans among them).

And also it will come with slightly sore soles, talking to a still fairly new (but also very old) friend about typewriters and A Clockwork Orange – he has seen the film, I’ve read the book, we both agree to even this out at some point and get the full picture.

And shots of pure vodka make the underside of my tongue roar.

And a talented player of guitar will do just that, and everyone else will sing (to varying degrees of excellency) whilst also cuddling, and eventually they will fall asleep.

They will talk about doing this again some point in the future.

And I hope that they realize how much that I want that to happen.

A poem I wrote for you

I name dropped the title
Of a book that google told me about
In a poem without even knowing
How it ended.

That book is at your place now.

I tried to read you, to learn you,
Before writing you into a poem,
But my magpie eyes couldn’t resist
The gleam of a new name

A blank page

I wrote a while ago that the
Crevices of your jumper
Smell like hope; that
Sometimes I wonder.

Well nowadays I wonder a lot more.

And so here you go, in the hope
That history will repeat itself,
With the faith that I can
Come back to you later,
Understand you as more
Than just a gleam in the rust
With a pair of kind eyes.