on winter afternoons

the sea             her eyes

towns imploding

            nothing seems to add up


we take turns               undressing

these words mean . . .

the waves ending in fizz and lather

i move within her / without her

cry                   ourselves to sleep –

we just don’t understand


alone in an attic room             weeks later

wind punching at the skylight

            i’m drunk a lot

sick days at the office            

only lamplight

the earth still spinning            that’s physics

            and she is somewhere

co-ordinates                the axis revolving

i stand in the kitchen               naked

sing for the joy of it all

Read more Issue Eight | Poetry

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