A younger me
Looking through the looking glass:
The picture of innocence,
Blonder than blond;
The sketch of a song
Before the symphony.
He steps through…

Swallow the blotter
On a Sunday afternoon.
Brain breaking its banks;
Sunlight through trees bleeding veins on cinder blocks;
Cobwebs connecting branches in the sky.
For a brief moment
I forgot who I was.

Sinking into my bed,
I felt a presence:
A thousand iterations of yesterday
Leading to this moment.

I looked up to see his face
Pushed up against my window,
Staring at me.
Was it betrayal written in his features,
So alien to me now?

Back and forth across the looking glass,
Distant scenes and old feelings
Take indistinct forms,
Lighting up my live wires
Like lightning,
Connecting us through the years.

Bleary eyes and heavy chest,
Stale spearmint mouth
And fisheye footage
Of strobe lights and stolen moments:
Pockets of clarity
In a chemical haze.

Did I see his face
In the bricks of the stall
As I made that decision?
Or was it him
Knocking on the door behind me,
Telling me to escape?

Standing at the traffic lights,
I feel a strange sensation:
A thousand roads converge to one
In sudden realisation.

Behind the curtain,
Pulling the strings
At the start of it all,
You lit the fuse;
You set the chain in motion,
Receding into that horizon
And fading into black,
Buried under memory.

Dig down deep,
Fit the pieces back together
And make the puzzle whole.
Wipe away the moss
On stepping stones across the stream
And heal the disconnect.
Look through the looking glass
And recognise those eyes.

It’s been you all along.