Cathedral Hill



Dreams of being strangled by my mother’s umbilical chord as I fall out of bed and land in the summer of ’06. Market stalls and mouth organs while rolling cigarettes as the rain comes down so hard it makes me want to take her right there and then, yet my thirst for alcohol can’t be denied. The pubs are old and the air tastes of yesterday, yet this is where I was born, and it flows through my veins like blood. I’m a thousand miles away, yet I’m right by your side. Pornography and whispy clouds that circle your head as you run to the river where we used to feed ducks when we were bored and life was great. The mysteries of a kiss- the feelings that linger in a split-second touch of outstretched fingers. These days escape us. They fade like the light as we dance down alleyways drunk and in love with the idea that there’s more to living that merely existing. Dreams of you pushing my hands down onto the bed while reducing me bathed in the light of aΒ candle. Dreams of destroying time and making you mine as the walls that surround us crumble in the blink of a billion lazy eyes. It’s September, or it could be March. The towns and cities whisper into my ear; they tell me that it won’t be long until I’m back. They say these things take time, but if I really mean it, then it will happen. There are skeletons of leaves as we walk through the park where we first made love. There are echoes of words once said now lost like the images of our youth. Wrap yourself around me, and count the stars that shine out of synch with what we know is true.

11 replies »

  1. Time…September or March. To be lost in a moment that is not time itself and to think that love is more powerful than the seasons. Superb.

  2. Beautiful work, as always. I feel like holding on to your words, clinging to them for they give me so much hope about this life and the love that we’re all destined to live with. Your writings truly are intriguing. x

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