Sleeping with Ghosts

Insomnia, ghosts, late nights, what could have been.

Wake up, 

Scrub away the sleep 

And imperfection. 

Towel off, cologne and 

Moisturise. 

Dry now so I 

Pick my wardrobe for the day. 

Old shorts,

My new favourite shrt. 

My stiff hood 

My sandals fray as I walk down the road. 

Hours pass in bars, 

Lecture halls, 

Cafeterias, 

Someone's home. 

My zipper comes apart 

When I lean back hard,

A reaction. 

You've got me cornered,

I smoke through the carton I brought, 

It's seems easier 

Than looking in your eyes. 

I look away,

Go, I can't stand the company. 

And when you're not facing me 

You're leaning on my shoulder, 

The one you always touched 

On the tips of your toes. 

I feel the balcony slip out under me. 

I cross my fingers under my sleeves. 

Let it not be me. 

I tap my feet. 

I am panicked, yet discreet. 

I reach across the dashboard, 

I clip the box 

With my bowed head, 

I'm too scared to look up. 

I want the world to look away. 

It feels like I've been walking 

On the N1 and M5; 

Harrington and De Villiers Street; 

St. Simon and Abelia Road 

Since January. 

My feet ache from the asphalt 

And my knees are bloodied and bent 

I leave. 

But you find me 

With unwashed dishes, 

The context of unopened wine. 

And empty cigarette cartons. 

I feel the balcony give way.

My feet turn on wood, 

Or do they turn on tile? 

I can't keep these houses 

On a time-line. 

Do you cut your nails on wood? 

Execute Paris turns on tile? 

I imagine you on a shag carpet.

Inviting me to dance 

To 50's swing,

But I'm allergic 

To all that cat hair you carry 

In your purse and your jersey, 

I'd be sneezing and coughing 

My way into an orthopaedic grave. 

And you've been here before, 

Your head on my chest 

And your leg on my thigh. 

So warm here 

When your toes curl on me. 

So wonderful 

When you hips burrow into me.

That hot-blooded rush overcomes me.

I sink into an uneasy sleep.

Like a cat 

Your pretend disdain 

While stealing the heat from my lap 

And my heart. 

I see you getting up with me, 

Your unkempt hair pinned to a mirror

And your your bare feet gliding along

Our floors like the skater your mother said you were.

Your frame turning 

In the bathroom mirror. 

The dishes go unwashed, 

The wine glass spilled 

And the cartons piled up. 

A laugh echoed in the hallway. 

The coffee's boiled over,

No sugar to sweeten the bitterness.

My clock radio goes off,

Ellie Goulding's "Figure 8".

You smile and

Somewhere in this house, you're singing along

Somehow it feels wrong

Singing this song 

Without you.