Purity

Mobile phones shine as the clouds roll in – skylines
are ambiguous as tarmac merges with the horizon. We make
friends on plastic memories, and we’re more than happy
to ride the coattails into destruction. The moon still shines on
broken city streets, you will keep your purity.

My fingers grasp the porcelain as I pour my guts into sewage and
stormwater drains; I love, and I disappear. And despair is quite a
pretty colour on you; you went by like a freight train, and I still hear
engine pistons sound in the bedroom. You wake up and I’ve been
here for so long, you’re starting to feel a little vague to me. The silence
sounds like the broken pieces of jigsaw puzzles – unfinished and unsteady –
the table edges are a bore. The television freezes on static, and we’re left
with the electronic remnants of a love that ceased to be. We duck into an alleyway
and we pretend to be what we always claimed to be, we were raised for a grand
romance but you took to the electronic airways. The porcelain breaks beneath my
fingertips, and sex and love and genocide break as my tenderness breaks free.
I don’t recognise this.