five pence and a pint of porter
that is what you’re owed

when the bees have rolled their wings in the sand
when their honey is wet, not sticky

I’ve lost my mind in this move
it’s worse than lost, it’s damned

shove a lit tapered candle into a wall outlet
the room lights flicker in ecstasy
that’s called an incestuous personification of visible spectrum radiation

I wish the girl illustrated above walked past me on a daily basis as a purely coincident consequence of the intersection of our commute to work schedules. A relationship built on the cumulative effect of seeing each other from a distance, approaching one another, and walking past each other day after day. A relationship developed entirely by non-verbal means. It would be even better if she were sleeping next to me. Alternately, I might wake up and she’s not breathing. I put my arm around her and draw her against me, whispering “Are you alive, or am I suddenly a necrophiliac?”