

you must know
the pain and delight of being what you are
i don’t know
everything with me goes blue
everything with you is light
I need to find out
the thrill of being with you
watching the sun rise
and watch life happen
Like a Sunday day
Only 7 sleepless weeks have gone by at the dining table. She tears a new fruit lovingly and violently apart, saying, we eat red, Pepe, little by little Pepe, hold the seeds. Unsure of when to spit, Pepe had harboured altogether fistfuls of them between his quiet cheeks for fear of resolving his ignorance, and the mess that comes with. Flowers now grow in his belly from the few accidentally pushed down the pipe. Pepe, mesmerised and repulsed by the ritual, finally spits.
The patient coagulated ruins take the shape of the cave that was his mouth, almost resembling the once pregnant pomegranate
It is the morning of their 44th wedding anniversary, he plonks himself on the cold of the living room floor, surrounded by photo albums of old. Wedding portrait. He glazes his eyes first wonderingly over her young face, followed by his own, then twice again over with fawning attentiveness, throwing into sharp relief just how unusual life has gone.