I don’t like to be perceived
my favourite Aquarius quip
said with a chuckle and my whole chest –
for eyes on my skin, small hellos and howeyas
in smoking areas and bathroom queues /
imagined passengers in passing cars
feel like scalpel incisions –
the flaying of a beast.
I crumple into nothing
under floodlights of sight.
sometimes grinning back from behind
my woman mask –
sometimes assembling passable chat –
more often slinking away
the Irish goodbye
don’t take existing so fuckin’ seriously
to me from me –
because that, dear self,
is merely being looked at –
an address, an invitation
to the banter table –
apocalyptic nightmare for
I grieve the loss of once being up for the craic /
down for connection /
well able – sure look.
a true peeling back of my surface /
a burning of these walls /
the act of sincere perception –
to be understood
shakes me to my peach-pit core.
I resist so deeply your searching
gaze / tone
in an act of learned self-destruction.
I yearn I yearn – my yearning the moon
pulling the tide / the push / an inner dance between two desires –
to be consumed whole
flesh sucked from bone
the marrow of my knowing a meander in your throat – forehead to forehead –
I long to be cradled by another brain
a solemn nod – I gotchu
silence – cosy / complete.
in conflict with the seductive roar of isolation –
fortified by flashing neon memories –
the cringe of fleeting eyeballs raising hair on my arms.
the siren’s call to give in to inner voices /
make a duvet cave – hide away /
nurse ancient wounds
and wish for days in the sun with another she – my happy self.
soft laughter at bus stops /
the ease of saying nothing but knowing all /
the magnitude of souls mirrored back between us.
I can’t decide –
come be alone with me /
come be alone.
we can even talk about the weather –
for nestled in the contours of your words is me –