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why? why falling? it's as if love's this huge boiling vat of red viscous bubbly liquid. and we're teetering on the rim like bottle-beetles, precariously peering in. wondering what's beneath the frothy, heaving surface and sometimes wanting to, sometimes indifferent to, the idea of being subsumed by all that heat.

then someone pushes us with a look or a certain way of shaking his head, and all of a sudden it's alley-oop! and in we go bumped off the periphery into the heart of things, wildly thrashing about; for the first time, realising the difference between inhaling the vapours and being (not sure of this yet).

glacial shards sliding down to shatter upon itself,
when it touches the cold hard ground.
here is a case of the cold murderous murdering cold
that will slowly spread to the rest of your body
freeze your posture in that half-bent wretched shock
of underestimated truths.

for xf, who doesn't really comprehend what she's done.

i wished on an eyelash, blew, and watched it lazily drift, spiralling down, down, landing on the black Tartarean road. in the exhausted vroom of the Benz, handing on the tailgate mixture of gas, dirt and oxidised petrol.

*

i hope you are miles away by now, mingling in a country club carpart. i hope you didn't give up halfway and flutter, fatigued, to the unfinished road of despair. handing on the periphery, then plunging into uncharted territories, only to plummet into dirty oblivion.

*

but don't you see, i want to be around you constantly. if i blink you might do something i would miss out on, and oh i would hate that! then, for the rest of our lives, there would be something about you i didn't know. oh i want to know everything. where- where the drops from your wet curly hair fall after you come out of the bath, which fold of skin crinkles under your eyes when you smile, just how your hands can hesitate, or pause, before taking mine. i want to see the world the way you see it, and if i blinked, i wouldn't. to be your eyelash, glued to your eyes and tenderly caressing them every 1.5 seconds, brushing away tears, dirt, dush, to frame clear hazel brown eyes.

*

but, you see, if i did that, i would die. knowing that i was one of several others that you would never feel singly, always you would think of me in the plurall. the closest i would get to personalised attention would be when i fell, and then only as your good-luck charm. in the small of the palm of your hand, nestled, to do anything you ask of me.

*

you would ask me to go, and bring you something else.

my bending barren boughs are gone today
their work of years lopped off in minutes
there is nothing to lean protectively over me

like a lover tensing for a fight
pushing his necessarily fair and wide-eyed
quivering shivering thrilling girl behind him
as he takes on the world.

in their place is a blanket of air
that apologises for the mistakes of another
by cocooning me in warmth that soon turns to heat,
sweltering out every drop of misery it is possible to wring
in the chase for a future of opportunities

i must deny every possible present;
i know i would shriek in some other reality
screaming wildly against my kidnappers
who just want the best for me, really
but here i must paste my smile on with sweat
and prove i am worth the investment.

quick, close the door.
dont let those words escape their confines of four walls.
i touch my face tremblingly, disbelieving of the truth
that lies to me in its utterance
it is not true.

you cannot mean what you just said.
for is it possible for three words to invert my retinas
so that all is an inverted, reversed reality
that threatens to tear away from my eyes at the faintest whisper? no,
you are lying. you are, you are, you must be.
it is impossible.

there are growths within my throat that prevent me from speaking.
they are shifting, changing, growing
and now they mutate to take a shape. a head,
fingers, baby toes, gurgling. it is arising slowly,
to be spat with full vigour, the work of a second for you,
a lifetime of salty memories for me.

breaking up is a four letter word.

In sincerest form of flattery of U A Fanthorpe

I would like you to think I think of you constantly
Like pounding of a drumbeat in a silent vacuum.

I would like you to think I think of you earnestly
Like thought bubbles floating on a wisp of amnesia.

I would like you to think I think of you economically
Like sparrow squirrelling away seeds for a wintry period of indulgence.

I would like you to think I think of you vehemently
Like heart that throbs so hard it stops.

I would like you to think Ithink of you affectionately
Like curling up under warm blankets of recollection.

I would like you to think i think of you only
Like song looped on cd player.

I would like you to think I think of you wistfully
Like golden traces of a dream that I cannot remember.

I would like you to think I think of you grammatically
Like order within the chaos that is my love for you.

And O I want to think of you, not between breaths,
but within them
like a conscientious lover.

my muse has deserted me.
fled on the wings of half-developed ideas
fragments that could never come together again;
he's peeved.
i dumped him countless number of times,
going out with the flavour of the month instead
getting distracted by kinematics' call sidetracked by caesar's words seduced by the sweet smells of butyl butanoate
but now, when i want a serious relationship,
hes found someone else.

i dont know who she is or where shes from
what she looks like or where she shops
but i dislike her already
for now i cant write
the rat-a-tat drumming of the words in my head
she's stolen the one thing that made me complete
(did i let him go? i cant even remember)
but now i want him back
that magical heady rush all over again
as man and dhan seamlessly merge
to form a piece
that i will critique over and over again
until i hate it with all my being
and then he'll come down and pat me on the shoulder
and tell me to leave the man's job to him.
one too many times.