Gore Street Car Park

My honey that never was.

Do you remember shivering at the pay station?

I do. And running past the justice centre.

High on each other’s love-wack,

Tiptoeing the bridge like O2 atoms.

Remembering forever, the future,

Kissing like Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.

You wore a tailored car,

Made for awkward stiff sex, and long limbs.

Fearful that someday you’d stop my heart like a pocket watch.

The penny, the pound, Gore Street car park where fishes swim up to each other and hug,

You are made of steam,

The stuff of dreams, as slight as a pin prick.

You breathe laughter, laugh breaths.

Spherical like a pineapple,

And you send phone calls to me like the way the wind knocks the air out of me.

Fizzling electricity down my stomach.

The stresses and wear and tear,

My organs have become scratched leather since loving you.

Loving you in a car park when I can see our intertwined fates,

Between cold shudders, and bony fingers.

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2 thoughts on “Gore Street Car Park

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