“You’re frayed at the edges”,
She let me know,
A return scene from the vaults;
One I’ve already been told.
We wondered, perhaps, if there was more to life than this.
Yet, as we thought in silence, we determined that this must be it.
There was a dull acceptance,
As your hand drew back,
Displaying a blushed realisation
In all the comforts I lacked.
Turning on a heel, words splashed from someone’s lips,
Moistening your smile as you savoured a fresh mix.
Let’s tell them they’re wrong
That It’s all in their heads.
But I knew I’d been mislaid
From what others had said.
She was at once so bright, the same when we’d all left.
Yet away from the beams, she seemed dimmed, bereft.
I can succeed with identity,
A sentiment revealed,
Yet as you told me later
“I won’t understand how you feel”.
So as the evening died down, behind a maroon chimney terrace
You lay your hand on my thigh and the warmth began to focus.
It is hard to believe the light that comes from your eyes.
Or the height that comes just from my hair
Either from sleeping on it weird or from that terrifying scare.
The scare that came with the pleasure of our current situation
And the discomfort I get from the inevitable changes.
But that’s awrite because on your soft earlobes are pearls
And they make you look like someone classy from a black&white film.
Like Audrey Hepburn in your black three-quarter length pants
Or a young Ava Gardner when you dance in your bra.
And when you smoulder in the kitchen with your hands turned on your hip
With a look slightly lewd trying to match her pouted lips.
I let out dumb laugh, which I find falls mainly in my eyes –
As they seem to be the most honest tool (I have) for sharing this life.
I’m very sad to think that, for now, this will be my last week living in Glasgow. I’ve spent four years living here in total, with three spent in the same flat. I’ve become very fond of my flat (and Glasgow itself) in these three years which have been a constant and comforting backdrop to my university career. I realise that no doubt I’m viewing my time here with rose-tinted specs as it wasn’t always that fun or easy all of the time, but it has for sure been an important stage in some sort of progression.
I’m aware that I will miss the places, the environment, and the nice people I’ve met here, but it is also important to remember the feelings of apprehension I had about coming here in the first place. Hopefully that means that in two years I will feel the same fondness for another city and will have had an equally happy time there.
I am aware this sounds like I’m dying, I’m not, I’m just moving down the road to Newcastle. Don’t say that’s the same thing…
I went on a trip to the Andalucia region of Spain this summer. I was there from late May to early June. It’s funny how long ago that seems now.
One of the best bits of the trip was lying on the beach in Cadiz with my gerlfrund. I was eating some cherries and enjoying a bit in “A Moveable Feast”, Hemingway’s notes on his time in Paris. He was describing how F. Scott Fitzgerald had come to him upset due to the fact he had a tiny penis.
The frequent visiting birds of the season
Suggest I’m made from a tougher spice
Like mace or cardamom.
You, we all agree, are cinnamon; sweetened.
Looking down Queen Street we find an answer
To an afternoon slightly light on a sense of culture.
And like the visiting bird, who is now a vulture,
We peruse the GoMA for artistic thoughts
Stretched Conceptually further.
Together we count the number of cunts and pricks
Concealed in a poster, next to a Boyle Family street front.
But we are equally keen to draw from one another
To help establish once and for all,
Whether its the level of enjoyment in the art present,
Or the disdain in the Glasgow rain, which is keeping us indoors.
I’m making fresh stock and listening to 5live on a Sunday. Where did my youth go?