Wish you were here…
Little winter Wandering Word outing at Cosies in Portland Square, Bristol. Poets, live music and the best DJs in the west… on a wednesday!
I am wearing the same dress
as the night that we met.
The night we met, your eyes
flicked the bias of my silhouette,
clamped me in a gentle vice
you are meant be here, you are right.
There is this peace
to being restricted.
Tonight, I am wearing the same dress.
Your eyes scoop dust from every dim corner,
searchlights stress the room.
Home is an unknown, sex is just a passport.
I am untethered, like a party balloon.
This is starting to bore me.
I am making this wordpress, slowly. I have little to no understanding of how technology works, so I have to have regular breaks to drink tea and stare out of the window, and talk to my friend Jamie about who we would have in our band of survivors in the advent of a zombie apocolypse. Bear with me.
Here’s a photograph that I took, in the mean time, of an actual birds nest on the bins outside the pub where I work in St Pauls. You’re supposed to put photos in blogs, aren’t you.