When I close my eyes and point my face towards the Sun I can see and feel who I really am;
Blood vessels, ball of wool nerve endings and chance dancing on the insides of my eyelids.
Mumbai Style Attack.
Sometimes I press my eyes shut until they hurt so I can stare into the patterns. Then I flick the ends of my fingers just to watch them wobble.
Slut Takes On A Team.
In the morning my textured pillow’s bumps look like warts
or a field of igloos.
I want to meet those red face children in mittens made of sealskin.
I want to ride a dolphin and ask Arion to put me in the sky.
I want to…
9 Missed Calls.
Marmalade that spreads on toast in the shape of a ginger cat’s face, no matter what knife you use.
Shapes in the steam on the shower door, because why and how could I not?
Watching those scrawls and curves bounce away and lay in freshly painted yellow zigzag lines outside the school.
Being a brick and coughing to cause a draught.
Velocipede dinosaur triangle maze,
Cognitive Meccano Crystal Palace,
Halogen sky diving impresario,
And a burnt tongue.