You can see the world from up here.
It makes me scared to ever look away.
I recall first seeing you in this light,
and how the silver darted off your lips
into the unexpecting dull of my retina.
White flares lit up your face
so that you squinted as your gaze
spiraled upwards to match mine.
The clouds were spitting glass,
but you didn’t seem to mind.
Maybe if we never left this place again, then
everything would be okay. We could pitch up
and forget all existence; passive onlookers
in a world where nothing else matters.
You could reside here in timeless tranquility,
while I find a way to make food out of timber.
Something like that. I don’t really mind.
But away is the sound of porcelain cracking
on cold wooden slats. And no more
bitten nails, tearing through my back
as you try to explain yourself. Never again
need I excuse pink stains on white shirts,
or hold you soft under cover as your world
burns hot lava around you.
Because, while it will still get dark and scary,
ripping a hole wide through the night
will be one sole beam of evangelical light.
And with it, will bring a feeling so close to home,
that we’d forget we ever left at all.
Words: James Huxtable
Art : Saskia Phokou