Good lord. No lord. Bombs. Dresden. Spread vulva and suicide. The band, not the act. Stick your fingers in and look at me. Flick your hair from your eyes and hold my gaze. Let me see my childhood, and let me see centuries gone and the wonders of the ancient world before they crumbled and disappeared like spiders down the plughole. Let me watch as history repeats and the universe crunches us back together again the way a cruel hand squeezes the life out of a small animal that once danced in a forest the same as we did before the chains came and reigned us in. Give me those fingers, and stick them in my mouth. Pinch my tongue, and turn me on until I’m too drunk to fuck. That’s a Dead Kennedys song, right? Let’s listen to Squarepusher, drink white wine and play Streets of Rage together. Let’s go to a frozen lake and carve strange symbols into the ice before falling asleep beneath the stars holding hands while playing drunken games of I spy. We bomb the days we wish to leave behind. We bomb the world and sniff the air like dogs hunting for ghosts before taking flight. And then comes a drive to the coast and a dive into the sea until we’re speeding through the ocean like chemicals in the bloodstream throbbing and bobbing like pricks at a discotheque while your eyes glaze over and your mouth runs dry at the thought of what happens next. And what happens next is that we kiss and I attempt to dance but fail miserably just like the pricks and for a second I’m thinking does that make me the same as them but then comes your kiss again and the taste of Hollywood and that underwater Welsh chapel where the dead swim until the tide goes out and they breathe in the sun and the moon once more. Your aching kiss. Your belly pressed against mine the way it always used to. These fever dreams that lift us off our feet showing us things those we once knew will never see. In one of your eyes I see the reflection of the TV, and in the other, the horizon on some sleepy afternoon the likes of which you’ve kept in your autumn heart since the day we first met.

A Journal for Damned Lovers Volumes 1 & 2 on Amazon.co.uk

A Journal for Damned Lovers Volumes 1 & 2 on Amazon.com