Fitzrovia

I bought a pink lava lamp

which I leave on all night.

The same shade as your cheeks

the first time you dared to kiss.

 

I also got new bedsheets;

they are a flower sea.

The roses are your fingertips,

caressing the back of my ear.

 

On the wall next to my bed

I made a collage.

It’s all blue paysages

telling me about your eyes.

That is the closest I’ve ever been

to understand fine art.

 

You wouldn’t like my room;

you’d say it’s too full.

You’d say «out of past threads

one should never make a nest».

But you see,

there is a lot of hidden space

those days you try to forget.

YOUth

Strange sweet case of thunder racing lightning;

no wonder your storms were always frightening.

A hiker’s dream

Don’t you understand all I care for

are the valleys between your fingers,

every single one of them.

As most don’t want to camp there,

as most only think of pink snowed peaks;

can I tend that flat tenderness?

Can I, pretty please?

See, I know that’s the only place

where my lips are meant to rest.