IN WHICH I TRY TO REACH YOU

You come home full of yearning &
sit on the stairs, bag open identity
removed – phone, keys, purse, lighter.
Loose change. Heart. A coin from Egypt &
the weight of your mother’s pain.

A memory: The house where cats
howled at night & the bed made of glass,
the sharp slap & blooming pain that followed.
Stitches (24), no anaesthetic &
those days (3) where you forgot
your name (Valium) & finally
understood time (a marshmallow).

Coffee (black). Chanel (Chance).
Smoke (cigarette). 2am on an aching
Tuesday & the hum of neon (pink-flash-purple).
A lesson: This too shall pass.
A lesson: What doesn’t kill you leaves you
with an exit wound.

A lesson: The more you give to him, the
greater the consumption until you have
become him – a tail destined to slither
behind, to follow him anywhere.

Everywhere.

Ouroboros.

Pinned insects (entomology as high fashion).
Heart fragments (six, seven, eight) that you
would use as a knife if courage lived in your heart.
Risqué subtexts & the particular ambiance
of a hotel in a city that’s not a city that’s not a city &
sleepless flights resulting in running through Camden,
forever nursing sweet hangovers on the bridge near a café (no name).

Slither.

Bruising kisses. The impact of breathing. If you hold nine
secrets but give one away, how many do you have left to keep safe?
Favourite pen. Book. Lipstick. Mirror.

Creak of step beneath (well-worn, unchanging).

You think about the nights you let him in – his dis-
located smile – jaw hinging wide open to
swallow you whole.

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AE, 35, Dublin - Ireland ✯ IG: @__incantations ✯ BACK TO POETRY: OUROBOROS

“More coming soon @__incantations.”