Number

There were other offers. I don’t want you to think that there weren’t. But hotel rooms are a palate cleanser. And you’re on speed dial.

I don’t know what we talked about; it wasn’t much of anything, actually, that we hadn’t said already. Still, it was ’90s Dayglo coupled with Skrillex songs.

And it didn’t cut out, did it? The signal, I mean. The way it does every other time we talk from our actual houses. No-one redialled a million times. It was an ever connected line, for about three hours. Not eternity, exactly, but the things I learnt.

Every one of your stories, even the worst ones, I’ll take twice. If you run out, if that’s possible, three’s fine. Just don’t stop talking. Texting. Typing. Blogging. Logging the fact you exist in survivable formats, archive-able ones.

No-one cares if it’s true, but you may be the tattoo I’ll not bore of. Only, what font do I get you in?

Screen Shot 2014-07-17 at 21.34.26

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Secure Line (NaPoWriMo #23)

Date with glass screen unlike hip dip stretch mark toe thickness stagnate since and 18 years rug burn underarm detergent stains on dark tops trousers.

Biology no tell second skin cocoon shed sick coming come and 18 years bus route apply I apply rejections read acceptances similar same words in.

I am a smuge-cicle smudge circle the telephone terrorist and 18 the even people in call centre question intentions when usual they ring ring ring.

secure line

Well Enough Yet (NaPoWriMo #5)

On the phone,
Grandma says “Good”
when I didn’t fuck him, yet.
“Keep it that way,” she tells me;
I don’t know him well enough
to start something.

But what is left to do?

On day 1 I compared him to ex-boyfriends
kissed in clubs
he picked dog shit up
for my friend
and made my drink
with the last ice left
in the fridge freezer drawer.

So what else is there?

What next step to over-tread
like swimming lessons?
well