Crush is playing on the radio
as we feel the rush and small talk
becomes mountain climbing.
We inch a little closer
to the top and rejoice
with each victory, careful
that a misplaced foot
will not send us tumbling
back to our hypnotised state
where the sun is never orange.
Your laughter was like a rose
blooming on a cold winter’s day,
bringing memories of songs
playing in your eyes.
She pricked a needle in your lips
to test if they sang for her
but the needle broke
the music in her dreams.
On your broken turntable,
the off pitch love song
was for another.
He walks in and charges
the room with his presence,
then morph into a chameleon
and blends in with the chair.
He waits
like an audience in an opera
for his starlet to hit the right note
before he stands in ovation.
I do not mind that the sky is blue
or the sun, a bright orange.
I do not mind that we cannot see air
or touch the waves of light.
I do not mind the power we cannot see,
the gravity sucking our feet.
I do not mind that you stand close,
it feels just so good,
just so we can be together
like two Mandarin Ducks
When she thought her game was over
her voice hung in hysteria
like grey clouds on a stormy day.
She sought ransom from her friend
and held her gift of sunlight
against her bosom, tight and tied
to their sanity, waiting for it to curl
her tongue and heal her voice again.
She waits like an aspiring actress
at a line-up, waiting to be picked
for an audition, waiting
to be the star of the show.
She hawks you as you whirl
around like a revolving door,
not sure where you were going.
We watch as you wait
for the panes to smack you
and catch you in between them
before you will wake and walk again.
She donned new hair curled
in bounces like wigs on mannequins,
and shed her skin like seasons in transition.
She embraced their colours, each a day.
Sunlight blouse and coloured bra
was a favourite theme. She thought
looking like someone from Desparate Housewives
was a compliment and when a friend
said it was too much show
she said she did not mind
and continued changing seasons.
You will scratch yourself as you fall
on the sharp edges of tongues
if you don’t heed the whispers around you
and stop the walk on the plank. It’s not worth
the splashes of colours that will smear
the white of your shirt. Withdraw and listen
to the calls of your friends and see
their silent gestures wishing to wrap
you in bubbles for storage until sunlight breaks
the winter in your head again.
You need not be bloody nor your world, red.
(15.11.2008)
She finally broke into your world
like a piece of glass, sharp edged
but bearing a sweet wine.
Your boldness brought you closer
to her and you dreamed that soon
you would share your sandwich with her.
You struggled not to be twelve again
as you swallowed her concern for you
like a spoonful of cherry cough syrup,
while the one with the arrow woke up
when she saw how you kissed
the ornament with your eyes.
(13.11.2008)
She missed your catwalk
and meerkat pose so she whined
about her work and sighed
about the lights and irritated
everyone within her sight.
When we walked by, you stooped
to kiss your desk. She kicked
a fuss when we were back at our desks,
the lights were too white, the floor
was too hard and the air, too cold.
With your arrow in her heart
she walked the office, killing
everything that battled an eye.
