That Night.

I know what you think.

No, I’m not writing about that.

This is what I remember most.

What maybe I want to remember most.

This is after the tears

Of outside

Of nightclubs

Of bathroom floors.

This was laying in bed with you


Feeling like I didn’t know you

But still loving you completely.

You called me an idiot for staying…

I think maybe we’d both be idiots

Had I gone.

We were drunk

Not the happy kind anymore

And you wanted to be closer to me.

Skin on skin.




Just to feel me there

Nothing more

Nothing less.

Just to…

Be close.

Lips tempted lips

And you asked me to kiss you.

The best kind of trap.

Guess what.

You’ve caught me.

I surrender.

Lost in your kisses

And not wanting a map

Because that…

That memory

And this morning when

Your hands are

On my bare waist




With the look you get

Just before you ignite my butterflies


All of that

Is the treasure.

It’s breaking down outside

Smelly rooms

That I once passed out in

With tear streaked cheeks

And your nose cold

And red

and pressing into my cheek.

It’s the day after meeting you for lunch

But falling apart

At the sight of you.

You leaking again.

Maybe we just needed watering.

To bloom into embraces.



You gave me leaves

I gave you petals

You’ve always known how much I like


Believe it or not

Clichés not so much.

They are for the fiction I absorb in

Lose myself in

They don’t explain how

Or why

Or in what way

Love works.

More than just chemicals

And not wanting to be alone.

It’s a future unguaranteed

Which is both terrifying

And exciting.

I lost my cardigan that night.

I’m so happy that’s all that disappeared.




The woods you walk

these days

smell of herbs.

Not the good kind.

It reminds you of your mother

and the life you swore you

wouldn’t have.

You’re out late from work again

but you’ve been saving since you were fifteen.

You see the ballooons under your eyes these days

because they are balloons,

theyre gonna cost more than 5p plastic.

How friends tell you you look tired

but also how


you’ve become.

It’s a stigma.


Happy is clean pyjamas

and having you around

and warm hands on

bare skin

where nights are filled with us

from days thinking of you.

It’s finishing work on time

but if not

at least closing

in the best way possible.

Happy is poetic words

and nights with ink

on my palms

from writing sunshine

and rainbows

and beauty

in things that aren’t always


I’m drifting off now.

I hope there’s no nightmares…

I have to do it all again tomorrow.


Cliched lines.

As you said, who doesn’t like cliches?

We just brought dinosaurs

and discussed housing arrangements.

I can’t wait to do nothing with you

on days where you stay in hot pyjamas

until gone three.

After all, what’s hotter than pokemon?

Maybe you underneath the fabric…

Just maybe.

We do write better when we’re sad

but I never knew you kept writing poems

just to impress me

until this morning so…

You’ll have to deal with medium writing for now.

Happy writing, almost.

I’ll aim to impress you in new ways

but the poems will remain.

That cool?

I’ll keep trying to cook for you.

I’ll attempt the impossible and make you cheesecake

in what little time there is

before Tuesday.

I’ll try and be funny still


I’ll think of real life cliches

instead of just writing them.

See you tonight.




I think I’m hormonal…

My chest has started aching.

Different to before

but balloons don’t always pop

or deflate

instead they just ache

and I wish you were still here

like this morning,

having cold eggs

and alright bagels for breakfast.

Then, a smile that creased cheeks

as arms piled around me from behind.

It felt like a while since you’d done that.

I should wash up more…

I need to be doing some things for university

but I prefer drawing funky hair

and wearing T-shirts you’ve left here

because it was on the radiator

and it’s warm.

Hope that’s okay.

Hold me tight,

poetry boy,

see you soon.


How drunk were you?

Last night I sent you pictures.

The first time I did that I got a ‘wow’.

Recently, I’ve wanted you closer a lot more…

The first time we did that, it hurt. A lot.

I wanted to talk to you from swiping right,

the first time you messaged me was on a bus.

I liked how your name looked in my phone,

the first time you were just five letters,

now I’d write you the whole alphabet if I could.

The first poem was one you wrote.

I know you think it was dreams

but the first thing I wrote was more real.

Talking to you made me want to meet you.

The first time that happened you made me want more time with you.

Being with you on a bench,

the first time you touched my knee.

In Richmond, I wanted you to hold my hand,

the first time you did, it was sorta nice.

Kissing you was almost too crazy for butterflies,

the first time we did, they went everywhere.


You are and always will be my first for many things.

Do you still want me to be yours?

It rained.

Last night

you tasted of churros.

We agreed on cinnamon.

Funny that,




just for a while.

That’s your superpower.

I’m better not just cause I wanna be.

I’m better because you helped.

I’m better now.

So much.

And when we sat

with that looming German

it wasn’t just rain in the air,

it was the taste of


Harsh words and teary eyes

that was me before.

Sometimes it happens again,

we need to work


but I’m not passing those fleeting moments

for a chance of more than fleeting

with us.

So, let’s kiss on escalators.

and keep drawers

and hang onto this.


The Last Time I Drank…

Here are my mind mumbles.

This is from late August.

Okay, I’ll be honest.

This is a new kind of hazy.

I got high without the drugs,

The help.

I’m high on us.

On last night

  • and all the nights before –

I want to keep drinking it in.

Though, perhaps not,

actually drinking now

because it’s all a little blurry.

There’s me and you

and us and them

and all of us in

dim lighting and round stools.

It’s a snapshot

coloured in a

certain shade

of happy.

And while I almost

can’t feel anything

I know

I have all these special ones for you.