Lydia Hounat — "Gore Street Car Park", 2015

My honey that never was.
Do you remember shivering at the pay station?
I do. And running past the justice centre.

High on each other's wack,
Tiptoeing the bridge like O2 molecules.
Remembering forever, the future,

Kissing like Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.
You wore a tailored car,
Made for awkward stiff sex, and long limbs.

Fearful that someday you'd stop my heart like a pocket watch.
The penny, the pound, Gore Street car park, fumbling with rusty change,
You are made of steam,

The stuff of dreams, as slight as a pin prick.
You breathe laughter, laugh breaths.
Spherical like a pineapple,

And you send phone calls to me like the way the wind knocks the air out of me.
Fizzling electricity down my stomach.
The stresses and wear and tear,

My organs have become scratched leather since finding you.
Sat in a car park where I can see our fates in gulps of air,
Between cold shudders, and bony fingers.


Published in HOAX issue 5

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