the bus poem - part five; rum without the coke

I love you.

It hurts

to drive past Neptune’s bridge,

where i know you live,

and to just

C a r r y  o n.

We were always just

Carrying on.

I hope that

we won’t have to do that for too long.

I hope that one day

we can go somewhere together.

 

A place where I wear my hair loose,

and let it dry on its own,

coconut tangles, uncontrollable vines,

the damp ends tickle your spine

as you sit cross legged below Uranus,

I come and I plant myself behind you,

my legs wrap around your waist,

slim and soft, a gift from the Gods,

as I sigh stars into your neck,

arms draped like mountain climbers

victorious on top of your shoulders,

and everything looks silver.

I’d love to be somewhere like that.

 

And when it doesn’t fall right,

when my hair gets stuck on your lip,

when your spine is snapped from the drop,

and your waist is painted in a blackish-purplish-blue hue,

Neither of us will mind.

Because there’s no one else around to see

you with me,

lying on cold sand,

indents and lines,

dents and dives,

skin brushing skin,

hands intertwined and tied by slow whispers of unsteady kisses

and nothing but hot breath in between.

 

Look at you.

You’re all caught up

in thoughts that aren’t yours,

spinning saturn’s ring between your fingers

and waiting for her to call you home.

Maybe later we could ask all of our friends

to start a fire,

more wild than jupiter,

but with a tongue less adventurous than yours.

And maybe

that would help us

to burn all the sadness out of our brains,

with flames that burn the backs of our throats

And tastes like rum without the coke.

 

I’ll write poems and dance naked under mars.

You can do whatever the fuck you want,

so long as you watch first

and join in later.

Your lines would be twisting,

lighted at twilight,

limbs draped across your torso,

hanging heavy,

weighted with the lead in your chest,

a golden glow as natural as Earth.

and then, once I realise that you look like a fool,

I’ll push you into the lake

and jump in after.

 

With Venus watching

we smoke while we swim.

And swim

and swim

until we find a new place to begin.

I can’t think of a better place to begin.

I get a slap of stitches.

A fist of needles.

Whenever I think of you walking me home

all the way to mercury and back.

I don’t know if we can do this.

But, if we do,

I know it’ll be the hardest thing we’ve done yet.

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