Buckfever Underground Love In A Time Of Visas
you're seeing the bosphorus in the distance, from here
I can see the cable cars(two things on the same line,
but never at the same station)
we can both see mosques, or at least, if I was standing
on the roof I could
you're cooking something in the kitchen, I'm spinning
around on an office chair
there's a tiny delay, when we laugh it becomes
irrelevant
I'm trying to let a twenty minute phone call tell me
something new about you
trying to let that hug you send me crunch my bones,
pretending the plastic of the phone
is the warm curve of your face that fits like a
favourite hat
the kind of hat you'll climb back up a mountain for,
knowing that it's kept you warm before
and there's no reason to let it go just like that
that email you sent me about full moon
was like a brainscan spelled out in english
I wish I was a psychopath, I mean a homeopath, I mean,
I wish I had telepathic powers, so I can make you do
things with your hands
or control about an inch of your skin, make it glow in
the dark, just a bit
like an indiglo watch, a blinking cellphone charger, uv
strips on a jogger
I wish it was the end of july already,
so I can rub a rough thumb over your eyebrows
and take you to a room somewhere
where we can talk and unpack and shower
and put our steaming limbs together,
melting the sheets as if it was snow
in the thin quiet air of nepal
then I can put my ear to yours
and download enough mp3s for years of listening
pleasure
and tonight, what i remember is nothing
but the blue in your eyes turning green
like a fish
jumping in and out of water
as the sheets in my bed flap
from darkness to heaven
tonight's the night
that i feel the warmth of your face
like a gust from the warm wind mulling
around now for hours and hours
like the weather is one of your powers
and even if all i have to show for it is
backpain
and a sense of something incomplete
when i go through my daily prayer
of car eat work shit sleep
and even if all i need to know
is that when i play a song i like
you're somewhere in it
laughing
like rubbish removal is a service
for clowns
doing black humour
and you're directing aeroplanes again
to take off and to land
when you dance like a madman
and sing in a band
and my heart is a leather handle,
pulling with the tides
of yours hitching rides
with the freedom in the sand
my teeth are aching for peppermint chocolate
and lion's breath in the morning
by that river,
you remember
because tonight,
i watched a movie alone
together with other people
and the moon
was just hanging there
like a church
without a steeple