The warm sky grows dark and
I am not aware of myself.
I become blind in the rain
waiting for your train to rumble away.
You’re not even looking at me,
you have put your jam jar glasses on and have
your face deep inside a book
you spent three quarters of an hour choosing
this morning, while your hair,
wet down your back,
made small pools on the floorboards.
I kissed you, as if you were made of cake,
stumbled and became increasingly aware about
how you frighten my mind with your wild ideas and thoughts
about now, yesterday and tomorrow.
I’ll live on Newcastle Brown Ale and Findus crispy pancakes
until you get back, and we buy fruit and cereal again.
and become devoted to trying.