swerving neatly through the silent streets like they were made for us
and us only. my fear of the potholes that map our route home
gone like the crowds that should be spilling out of cassidy’s right now
of a friday night — of an easter bank holiday, no less. a miracle in itself.
well, the church allowed those doors to open not too long ago
and the law changed overnight to close them again.
i’m brave, levelled-up. and while i can’t tangle myself up in your arms clumsily,
no regard for the proper form to accommodate our different heights
and honk like geese flying in v shapes to god knows where
now that the planes are all grounded, to skim through the night behind you,
cuddled between buses with lights on and no one on board,
feels like coming up.
brimming, gurning with an ecstasy i didn’t know i could muster
in these strange, uncertain, scary, unprecedented, difficult times.
engines purr, our wheels spit fire and we shriek into the dark, giggling
like kids in mass. fuck the flashes of lumo jackets crawling through the city’s scalp like lice, eyes
narrowed as we pass; a rehearsed lie folded up in our back pockets
that we live together.
makes us prime targets. notes are probably being written but we don’t care.
if this is the closest i can get — a rough 2 metres enforced by our tires —
i’m going to slice it down the middle and bleed it bone-dry. lap it up like a
dehydrated dog. i’m panting by the time we reach east wall, who’s dressed up
for our arrival in a silky layer of fog. it’s cold now. traffic lights dance
in rounds of red, orange, green for no one.
by the promenade, your cries of adoration follow me up the road,
fuel me for the home-stretch. members of the new tribe of night runners
ghost by me, heads down. i keep pedalling. it’s not easy but we do our best
as we always do to carry on, to carry each other. our hearts continue to run free
and the circulation of our connections continues to flow,
unsevered by our physical limitations.
– / — / — / — / — / — / — / — / — / — / — / — / — / — / — / — / — / — / — / — / — / — / — / — / — / — / — / — / — / — / –