Bloom

She felt like newness,
Feels to be alive;
To be loved and held,
Known unknowns blur to merge.

With cigarettes on the terrace
In the smoke and sky,
I walk on clouds
Of the way her breath felt on my face,
The way her hands pressed against my chest.

With the low alone.
Fresh tarmac ground
Searing itself to my skin,
I dare not turn back.

‘Cause I’m stray now;
Somewhere between her mist,
Those clouds
And headstones daubed in grey-green.

Maybe to lie here,
Pause for a while,
Never to wake up.

This is sick,
It’s dizzy,
It’s raw.

My hand waves
And my head turns,
As goodbye only perpetually gets ready
Never to say when it’ll come.

So like smoke
Rising from burning tarmac
To meet the haze of night clouds
In her eyeline:

I’ll drift
A little more.