Almost pendulous from a carpark roof top,
Knees plunged into rainy puddles,
kissing and laughing.
He’s a little overdramatic, but why not?
You’ve mentioned an ex-
A few too many times and in my mind
I have created an image of the house where you resided
and the front doorsteps where in
Summer you both sat to smoke and drink tea.
The silhouette on open curtains causes me flutters.
I can’t remember positives without
tainting them with the fruits of my endless analysis.
Your bike rides circles around my mind as each spoke
Snaps sharply and snags and scrapes
Its way out.
Damn you and that bike.
The searing Colombia sun bounces off your teeth
As you lay back and soak up your work.
You ride, untainted, dropping
bags of empathetic sentiments
and run around, arms bent at the elbow, with confident conviction
and overly intense pleasantries.
The kind of person who makes his own tea and one for you when he first visits.
But the teabag must wait.
It must wait for the right amount of time.
At first, I thought of my dilapidated state,
Wobbly reflections and reluctant drives.
Until I remembered the lonely hazy night,
Your desperate attempts to replicate Narcissus
And your bloody, ugly boots.
Those Furrowed Brows
Last night I dreamt of a midnight sky above our tent on your hill
Your distractions meant it was late.
In your sleep you were abrupt and breathless
And I laid your head back onto the pillow, dozing back still.
You were a fresh new stranger to me then.
The flames licked at my eyes and stars teased me detrimentally in the background of the hill, of my mind, of your eyes.
That sheep is right behind us.
Your arms were like frayed ropes tightening the blades of my shoulders.
You said my pupils were different sizes and I told you how we can only ever look someone directly in one eye. I don’t like debating.
I’m sure you’re sedating my strength.
I’m embarking on a novel new life and my chest jitters with the plethora of new experiences
You’re suddenly an empty shell.
But all I remember is your indents in the mirror.
That morning I found your damp socks in my suitcase.
That morning I tried to envision your face.
Like biting on cotton wool, marshmallow, my teeth are numb like your senses.
You said your high expectations left you bathed in inevitable loneliness.
Compulsive traits start to take on new meanings.
I’m beginning to question myself.
Your sister spoke of marriage and I told you that weekend, no, I’d be with my friends.
They all found your presence uncomfortable.
Yet for me, alluring.
I’m beginning to question your motives.
She speaks in beautiful little symbols
That I’ll always wish I’d had a hold of.
I held up all night to hear your accounts.
The reservoir glimmers from your open window as you dance gawkily , awkardly
And I sit there contemplating my laziness but content.
I fake being asleep as you leave in the morning and you can sense that it’s not okay to wake me.
You plant the mark of your deception on my forehead.
We won’t speak again for days.
Claiming I was yours in private left me occupied with questions
Everyone knows about your year of wallowing
I feel like I’m swallowing your tears.
I’m beginning to question it all.
– Terri-Ann Jones