Halohid

I grumbled with the rest when they announced it: delays on the Sandringham line. They said someone had died and I believed them. I stopped grumbling and felt the familiar guilt settle into my chest. That guilt you feel when you cry over a chipped iPhone screen and then remember starving Kenyans. When they said that the body on the track was mine, I believed them. My mouth filled with cotton wool. I blinked very hard at the world, memorising its curves; the exact texture of chewing gum under foot; the way the oily air shimmered, rising off the hot surface of the road; the glint of the sun on the glistening train tracks, snaking off to infinit

I keep thinking about the bike rider The one who rode past the night we kissed on the street corner I never mentioned this before I didn’t want to admit that I was kissing with my eyes open I’m sorry I was trying to live that moment to the fullest Or something My memory My sensorial memory Places that kiss on a summer night It sets the light at dusk The temperature in the high twenties The pavement as cooling My sensorial memory exposes skin A strapless dress perhaps A light shirt Half unbuttoned Out of character for us both but That’s what my memory says My calendar says different It places that kiss in mid-winter We wer