Williams
I dreamt of you again last night
Though this time it was weird;
You morphed into Gene Wilder,
Lying at the foot of the stairs
In the house where I birthed
Teenage angst,
Flesh,
Blood.
Curled in a foetal position,
Your once ginger hair
Now grey and wired.
Sallow skin,
Shiny with tears.
Last week I dreamt
You had returned.
I met you at the station.
Hot rage and grief poured;
Filled the forecourt and
You took it.
You stood there;
In the flames and
Monsoons and
You saw it,
You felt it,
You took it.
I forget how brave you are sometimes.
Last night I dreamt of you again
And this was definitely
Strangest;
In a country house
With the highest ceilings,
I hung
Off the edge
Of a giant door
And in you walked,
In Donald Trump’s body.
I swung down to meet you,
Your tiny eyes,
Filled with sorrow
And emptiness.
A void which only
A mother’s love can fill,
But I have tried anyway.
I’ve thought of you
Most every day
Since we met;
1st August 2010
The first time.
Swallow leggings.
Nils Frahm.
I can not find a figure
To count the ghostings
In our 6.5yrs.
I think it kind of suits you really.
The mystery.
The silence.
Five months since
You walked
Out my door
With a promise
Of return.
I’m still thinking of you.
