Who has time to waste?
except on Sundays
when I feel like getting wasted
to fill the emptiness
I could almost
write a whole book
on restlessness
if I could settle
in my chair
without scrolling, endless
toxic products
a lifecycle to landfill
existential despair
put everything in boxes
and let the mould grow
your children
won’t be interested
in dusty receipts that show
how much you spent
on name-brand trousers
in the 90s
but
I’ll know
Photo: Claire Doble
put that in aspic
put it in amber
as the long gold
of a winter afternoon
draws on my heart
and the cravings start
to preserve that almost-there
feeling, like where
you dragged your lips
down my shoulder
or the nostalgic
sense of a new
room
in a rented flat
as sun slants
across clean paintwork
dust-motes dance
I would
tear apart
shred the world
just to
keep this
butterfly-bright moment
pinned
to my taskbar
like yearning, like wanting, like chance
but the light just
slips
through my hands
clairevetica 