365 Poems/51 – Waving At My Back
Waving At My Back
I miss waking up with my head
on your milky abdomen, your fists
squeezed tight around the corner
of the pillowcase, and the spiders,
caught through the night, in a glass
with a folded newspaper underneath.
I miss the almost medicinal taste
of your mouth, the primitive tattoos
across your back and legs.
You are aggressive with your skin,
but so careful with your bones,
and fix bikes but don’t ride them.
In my head, all I can think of is when
you were waving at my back,
then, when I turned and turned again,
you were still waving, and I wanted
to rush back to you, and fuck there,
against the wall, where the queue was forming
for the coach you were waiting to get.
I wanted to ask if you’d share my flat.
Every morning I’d offer you bread that
I’d baked myself and glazed with
the full yolk of an egg.
Instead, I walked home, going over
and over what you had told me;
that blue or indigo food is good to eat
if I am lacking inspiration. You said
you would bring me grapes, aubergines,
and mackerel, purple skinned onions
and a punnet of blueberries.
I’m wondering now if I was too much
of a struggle, if I took the amethyst
from between my eyebrows too early,
before I had learnt how to stay in control.