We did not speak in volumes,
we had quiet mouths that were infant-like
in their crawl towards the matching loudspeakers
we made from plastic cups.

It was a year ago today. It was
a hot day and I sat on a Union Jack,
clasping ski goggles and suntan lotion
like they could save me from things that grow
and swell inside
or things that make you ashamed
to be in love or things that
make you blinder
the sadder you get. I sat
as two men spoke of a man named Clive.
He would come and reuse bricks and bits
of bones to rebuild the wall
we kicked down.

They did not notice me, I waited
as they pin pointed the weak point,
they pondered over the two lovers
in hospital beds, with broken ankles
getting blinder from sadness.
O how they swelled.

I wish I could have told you things
back then, things like
one day I think you will regret me, things like
everyday I regret myself, things like
please
don't.

Things like
love is not just a tingling feeling
between my thighs
and you will not be able to stop it
when I say it hurts.