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19/01/2015

Burn it into

Will Annesley

It is hot today
just like that other day when it was hot
The grass is still
so cold across the pavilion and I scan a spot
of lawn that has been quiffed into the fifties
been given the Elvis-blow-dry look by a zephyr
that can barely be felt

I want to squat on its face
and wear the dew on my legs like how the sweat clamors
under the duvet after sex in the Pyrenees heat

If my hair were a wig
I would take it right off
I          take         off

I’d let you blow on my brain even though
the sight of all those capillaries would make you vomit straight into it
The thought of being your ceramic toilet bowl
just for a second makes me cool

I feel self-conscious
looking into the eyes of the reflected version of myself that is
petrified in your sunglasses I’d rather see you

Those glasses were probably designed for someone with a much bigger head and
besides you could slap me on a postcard if only you would squint me two
dimensionally

Flatten the space around the moment over and over again until it becomes Lick
its back and post it to me

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