Modern Love: Thinking Infinity

Thinking Infinity

All the days to tread till I meet you. All the miles walking together around

kitchens, homes and showrooms clutching our Tesco/Morrisons/Waitrose-

trolley-full-dreams. Swearing whilst our kids watch us, getting in

a huff over what type of juice is good. I’m young; I’m old, still thinking

this. Every stolen pillow is a memory out of reach on a shelf with steam

pressed showers, clammyfucked meek and sweet. On that ledge there’s

your bottom shaped in tea leaves, stained mugs and all the silent faceless

dreams I’ve had. In nightcoiled alleys you’re lamppost-flashing, winking

a morse code language from a daylight, daybreak, future-never-seen and

there at a place I can’t reach you’re dancing, smiling all-knowing because

my feet can’t walk through time yet. Try as they might I can’t get the dance

right. This could be five hundred poems, and it has and it will, every sky

I’m under is over you, too; every time I sleep I’m eyetight, thinking of

you clearly. All these drinks I’ve drowned, toasted dearly, dear. Every

moment spent ticks towards our meeting, starbound, trapped, heavy

heaving. Kissing. Like this. x. And this. x. And this. x.