Her body was nothing on me
A fleshline on vodka and coffee
Staring ceilings in hopes of feeling

A stuffed animal
A nametag
A trebleclef.

A retainer. 

The romantic mind is an obscure one.

Sometimes it feels consistent romantic interest, no matter how dishonest or impractical simply feels right. Even now someone I know I will realistically never have a romantic relationship with, still wafts around my mind in the quaint daydreams that act as interludes in my university week.

I don’t even know her well, and the more I discover the more my affection realises itself and smothers accordingly.

“The most exciting attractions are between two opposites that never meet”

Andy Warhol understood the attraction to what we don’t understand or have not yet explored. I wonder how this will play out.

Each fact is bringing me closer to something further away.


FC

 

15th Of March

And you’re chewing skin,
five floors, off the railing,
A crutch burning at end,
The only outside you’ve known,
from hometown walls.


FC 

There is something clean about the breeze through my living room window.

Amidst thoughts of the last five days spent on packet noodles, casket wine and smoke, the wind holds my arms and wafts across my torso, enjoying my presence almost as much as vice versa. The leaves outside my window shiver in its caress and my to do list leaps from the table, shuddering at the bite of its touch.

There is a fine line between and a breeze and a gale.

I suppose it is relative to size.


FC 

South Wall

He never knew why he found himself on the wall in times of emotional crisis, it really didn’t bare much nostalgia or sentiment. No black romance amongst its rocks or life altering realisations below on its sands. It was a place he just returned to, that gave without expecting return. A place to be beside himself.

But this time he wasn’t.

The wall on the ocean had a bizarre effect on people at night, even in company it rendered words useless against the sheer power of the waves against rocks, the stars littering the sky and an axiom of comfortable silence.

No movement, no words; just two bodies sitting on the rocks, breathing the same quiet.

A brief blissful quiet.


FC 

I opened the door and stepped inside…

It was much like every other room in the practice, with the exception of an office window that drained the white from the room with aid from the afternoon sun. I searched for a place to sit but the edgy decor gave me no assistance. Everything was stainless steel vectors jutting out on their own tangents, free of association with the other objects in the room. One item in particular kept a level surface, the x-axis, climbing to the foreground of my vision. The fact the desk resembled Noah’s Ark in stature as well as texture, also contributed. Using it as my life boat in the sea of atrocious interior design, I perched myself precariously on the one clean corner available on its surface as every object on the desk seemed to desperately crawl to its edges, seeking refuge on the floor. 

In my frantic struggle for comfort or some semblance of poise, I hardly noticed the door had opened… 

She stood with one leg slightly crooked to the side, as if to show her simultaneous inquisition and panic. As the weight shifted from her calves that peeked from a black knee length skirt, her shoulders and spine realigned bringing with it a professionalism. A ribbon of brown hair brushed by her business shirt, finally resting on a clipboard wedged against her hip.

“Mr Dartmouth, I presume?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

The tendons in her hand writhed in what seemed like pain, before completely easing almost instantaneously.

“What on earth are you doing on my desk?”


FC