Living Room

Mukisa Verrall

We knock knees in breathless proximity / blasted carcass-empty / by the room’s heavy inventory / its dumb articulation. / We watch winter blossom close and cruel / against a patch of grime-specked window / pray for intercom takeaway / temporal reprieve / hoisin sauce sticky and brown / like the light crystallized / into apologetic sweetness / on your dripping fingers / everything overflowing. / Love, quietly / like blood rushing / bursting vessel walls / silently haemorrhaging. / Suitcases spill their intestinal damage / onto gummy vinyl / which pools like petroleum / lapping black / at a clock’s wooden foot / thudding in idiotic repetition / between stacks of newspapers that sway / like drunk men / with yellowing edges. / Shadows inundate space / twist obscene / against damp wallpaper / and mass mucus in their secret mouths / to spit ill-wishes into the well before the television / which blinks at us into the small hours / and drags time long and thin / through the room’s aching camera.

I have all I need but space.