I just found this in the break-up archive (yeah I’ve had a lot of them) and thought I would pop it on here… it’s called We Will Never Run. I hate running so that’s probably why the ‘run’ never happened. Perhaps it should just be ‘I will never run’ but I think, on the whole, a love poem is more interesting than one about reluctance to exercise.
We Will Never Run
Leave your stomach of butterflies at the door
I prefer moths.
Two magpies make a promise and your faith is restored
But I can offer you nothing
Only my hat.
I cannot spare you my lung
Can you not use your own?
I cannot warm your mind when the frost descends,
nor tend to your smouldering fire,
I can’t feed your ruthless appetite
nor guide your blind desire.
Leave it.
Leave your rigid version of me
in the home of our impossible future.
Awkwardly our names sit
On an envelope
Through the letter box
Of a French grey door
to a house
Just south of your imagination.
Your contact lenses are out of stock
I’m not blonde.
It is mousey brown.
My hair is mousey brown.
Take off your running gloves
My hands are cracked
they’re not soft.
Take off your shoes,
We will never run.
We will never run.
