If dreams were tinsel-coloured follies
I would still hold on to them
Until, battered, they would beg
To be released.
I haven’t got used to the dichotomy, yet,
For even in nightmares
I’m holding your hands, even if it is
For a heartbeat.
I love gray skies and to-do lists
Because theoretically, then, I have my life in control
And your voice seems less rusted over the telephone.
I try being transparent
In a crowd of jostling bodies and clammy hands
And I tried swallowing silence
Like sleeping pills
But overdosing was another story
I was not prepared for.
If storms had a colour
It would be two shades lighter
Than the burnout evenings
When you gave me a taste of how
Your Rs roll in your mouth.
25 February 2018