7th November
flight over the himalayas. worlding unapproachably on the cliff edges
thwart the inside-outside of wailing and singing.
broken bottles crackling smaller underfoot; it’s almost a white christmas
Remmy, I’m going. Rems old chap I’m slipping back into the water.
I’m devolving my friend, and my gills are twitching for the ocean currents.
C’mon and cast the nets and pull some mermaids from the depths.
sirens whailing as their fortunes flip; roles reversed.
—-
let’s grow into something leafier, taller, streching for the sun…
in pleasant flowing gestures across a field of constellations
to catch breaths and kisses cornered through playful turns
and paint some colour on your cheeks.
—-
the seat shakes as we surge forward, up the runway. cleave the sky and nestle through clouds. always sunny up here, till the mauve bleeds slowly from the day; protracted, supernaturally, in the gap between worlds.