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.