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