QUOSH

Do not press the button.

You smell of war
Your kiss is a a wrecking ball
I’m thinking about your hair. Again.

Do enter
Do feed the animals
Do look down
Press the button.

Fuddled etchings
An unfamiliar bench,

Entangled teenage tongues and brine
A Promise that you couldn’t keep. In time.

Blurry neon. Off/On. Repeat.
Dissecting our shape before the heave of the promenade
Your words seem scripted

Communion.

Drawing on the last drops of April
This place can’t exist.

It was later than it felt and although you left hours ago
(It could have been minutes) I wonder if it was you at all?
It still looks like you.

A school photograph softened by time as girls you can’t remember look on.

Unaware, extras in your movie,

It was you all along.

Your favourite line from your favourite song
I was once your stylus.
A flat blue sky wraps itself around me like gum
This could still be anywhere. It’s not.

The faint yelp of a car alarm severs the din of Storrow Drive
I left before you even noticed