Hunger
Couldn’t think of a title, so I had a friend think of a random word.
Do they know that I can hear them The roar of adjacent tyres against tarmac The seething chatter of disgruntled commuters It all blows against resisting winds in an intangible flood Do they know that I can hear them? The riches of conversations Between lost travellers in lorries Do they know? Has time made promises to them too? A time now past The presentness of being The stillness of a tide yet to flow Are they aware? The seasons age And mould Behind this windowLike living moss My chin pointed at the sky As late evening gives in to night When the torch is passed onto shroud the sun behind clouds of an early morning A sharp cool clears congested thoughts And as I lie here stillPretending to sleep Hoping the morning won’t notice My foolish mourning for feelings I’ve never experienced It’ll just nip in and slip by “I promise” Empty words Like vacant streets at 6 am Enough for goosebumps to growl An affectionate hand Treading lightly over my skin Nails tracing the curves of a starving stomach Ribs make the skin dip Like gentle waves If you dig just beneath As you inhale And the rib cage protrudes You can almost Kind of Hold in place The shape The bone What would it be like for them to break I wonder Having stirred in my own silence I’m muffled by the bosom of life Sleepwalking itself awake outside