I remember the afternoon when you appeared at my door,
blazing a trail of halcyon rust,
pirouetting like a helpless feather in the wind,
bouncing elegantly off two walls
and letting gravity pull you to the nearest chair.
Mumbling about how much,
how clean,
hitting a pipeline,
the dark crimson surge
and heaven cascading through the walls;
a tidal wave extinguishing the pain.
I continued playing the battered Spanish guitar
that some tone deaf fool had left
abandoned after judging it with their eyes.
“That’s nice” you said.
Smiled, swayed and drifted into bliss.
Content to just be, I encouraged the guitar
to continue singing sweetly
until it dawned on me that I was slowly killing you.
Gently letting you fall back to the womb
and away from reality’s embrace.
All the time watching your colours fade
into a Baltic blue.
My last resort of cold water shock
let in a tiny chink of light,
piercing the cocoon,
flooding grey to pink,
triggering a sharp intake of breath,
prompting the glare and the words,
“Do that again and I’ll fucking kill you!”
Blue Garage 