November 13th 2021
The world’s first urban autumns signalled
and included these, their last. Sparrowhawks
side-eye service stations beneath a henge
of moon. A petrol-coloured dome of sky
hides a dwindling fizz of insects. Simply
look at us, in love in a lapsing world.
I want to move through cold water with you,
feel its skin allow our skins, see
our oils create a complex of surfaces, lifting
off our bodies like the warmth inside a room,
like lightning teasing air apart before
it pours into the earth, a pure, fluid
arm of vibe, a muscle made of light.
All morning we sleep inside each other like crooks.
All afternoon the year begins expiring
into colour, soft fountains of shades
the trees. All night we’ll go away this weekend,
watch the world removing its spectacles.