Thursday, January 10, 2008

Your Ex-Lover is Dead (draft)

It started with a rrrrring.
This dawn is like ice and water-
colour pink outside my window, my
walls still dark and this morning
started with a ring.
They didn't need
to tell me but they called, they are
thoughtful that way.

Your ex-lover is dead.

Do you remember, was it another
birth when you bunked maths
tuition to watch him play at a fest his
friends so much older the little park by your
school where he touched his tongue
to your wrist that icecream
guy in the corner you
thought was Father
Christmas? Do you still hide
your blush when a passing
classmate mentions his name oh
when did you grow up
so much?

They didn't need to tell you but they
called. Your ex-lover is dead.

In a fit of summernight passion I had
given you all my childhood
dreams all my empty hours in
return of your
smile your silly schoolboy smile the pool
of sweat glistening in the hollow
of your throat. I was a child,
thoughtless and now
I cannot rest, these afternoons
make me shudder like a broken
conchshell I cannot hear my
footsteps anymore I have
bartered them for glitter glitter
glitter faded so long ago.

They didn't need to tell me that my ex-
lover is dead.

If I didn't exist, would you have
dreamed me?
I had dreamed you, I
built you up like a scrapbook with
memories, crumpled cigarette paper and
markerpen rainbows, built you up
till you were unreal, like dream, built
you up till my grubby fingers
could not touch you. So much star-
dust one could go blind! But now
you live in other people's dreams, a
stranger, or are they your
own? Dreams I do not recog-
nize, fingers that have sought salvation
in the voluptous perfume of many
other skins, washing over my sixteen-
year-old chewing gum
aftertaste since. As have I, as I
cannot imagine the timbre
of your voice on my phone anymore, there's
nothing left to owe or return, we are

They didn't need to tell me, I knew
my ex-lover was dead.

And who let you in here this
morning leaning against the dark of the wall
your arrogant eyes undoing my drowsy
languor, accusing
accusing of what, what
right do you have to
demand? I turn my eyes away and there's
the smell of blood in my
room, your merciless grin hangs
in my air and there are
tears, scorching, tears I
refuse to cry. Who let you here
in my head, you, half-wasted
teenage narcissus, who
let you become the demon I cannot forget?

They didn't need to tell me but
they called. They are
that way.