Gotcha

Tuesday roll out of bed and run
Haul jackets on
And fucking run
Hit the side of the bus
Climb in
Face plant the isle
Head butt the window
Hurdle unconscious enamelled
Speed up bus train turnstile get there
Plow keyboards madly
Little plastic letters
Shit it to production
Slam it
The clock says run
Fucking better
A blur beside me shouts HEY
A mess of blond hair shouts HEY
Lips and legs she grabs me HEY
I LIKE YOU
Painful yank and the weight of her drags
I drag her behind
HEY SLOW DOWN
I jab at my watch
HEY LOOK
I toss my head and look daggers

Her hand is outstretched
Thumb and index finger, touching
Between them, a red seed
I stare at it

I stand with rasping breath

Her hand is outstretched
Thumb and index finger, touching
Between them, a red seed
I stare

She grins at me

Constellation

My door creaks
When you go away
It moans as you leave
It closes on laughter and light

My eyes close
When you go away
They helplessly hold
The arch of your eyebrow and your reposed form

Your face fades
When you go away
It disintegrates
Into the midnight expanse of my inner eye

My lips smile
When you go away
Each time on that clear cold sky
I find a new star you left behind just for me