matthew lyon Poems

We meet
late at night
when the space
both inside
...

Slowly, feather-light
I circle my fingertips
down the canvas of your back
like a painter.
...

From day to day
on and on
time ticks away
like a carefully planted bomb
...

I dont want to be flesh
I want to be sky again
I dont want to be skin and bone
and teeth and eyes
...

I could stay inside you all day
and never venture out
ignoring the rain tapping on the window
as I splash about in your puddles
...

As I pass you all
on Oxford Street
and see
that vacant
...