dewella

i bet you taste like strawberty lip gloss
sweet and sticky, humidity rising beneath your
sun-kissed skin

blushed bright and shining, with a speck of winter

grey hiding in the back of your throat,

the back of my mind

jane, the peculiar soul twin of a girl with a hidden

map behind her eyes

two left feet, timid, tongue-tied

you'd guess i talk in circles to keep in time, to keep

in line

and i'd sit back and let you capture these thoughts if

i knew how to streamline them, reign them in

tie them up in a chocolate sundae surprise

wax lyrical about the bend of your toes

the peach coloured shadows that travel and outline the

room beyond

or perhaps it would be about something larger

our own little state of the union

etched into our skin, under a blue frayed sheet

the window propped open by an overdue library book

pages earmarked, torn, wet from the bath

you know i'm even clumsy with other people's words,

don't you?

yeah, and i guess you still know how i feel,

all my coffee covered wisdom tooth nonsense,

a parade of distractions, elephants and daisy chain

poems written on the back of my cigarette pack,

thrown away before i could give it to you,

a kiss on your shoulder,

meant to fall down

deeper still

and these seconds are remarkable,

whispers and

breaths,

green and yellow, blue,

two palm trees and a neon sign,

a different utterance,

a new life, line, listless wonder and awe

you can see it if you squint,

stand on one foot, hold

your breath

there is a window in the back,

two pillows and a

stereo

you can read the pages then,

and lie back

i just want to see if you can read my lips, this time

and feel them land