Your Sister Thinks I Love You

Your hands are warm around my arms

Your legs are warm against my legs

I look into your face then very quickly look away and my face follows my smile as it races past my cheeks

I am sat, elated, sheepish, beside you on the step while your fingers inspect every dent in my skin

They make soft excursions up and down my arm

I kill days waiting for a glimpse of you

I carry you around on my palette and also in my guts and you are a heavy cargo, you are weightless, overbearing and you ask me for honesty

I’m drunk, against a lamppost I stagger, I’m falling, I stop and dial your number, I slur at you, its light by now they’re setting up the market.

I smoke heavily and let you soothe what others couldn’t soothe, this pointless anger and I tell you that your sister thinks I love you. “I don’t love you”, I’m saying “don’t worry, I just think you’re.. great.”

You laugh at me, it makes me laugh and I’m so pissed, my legs are weak but I feel immense, invincible.

The dawn is fully dressed, it’s morning now and I wish for you to fall against. I say; “Me and you right, fuckin’, me and you yeah, we’re the same pack, same fuckin’ pack we are.”

You say; “If it’s just two, it’s not much of a pack, is it?” Your sister thinks I love you, well I tell you this for certain, I sit up late at nights and write you poems.