Every Summer I Am Reminded Sunburned On The Back Are The Loneliest Sunburns

i am going to break my phone
so people can’t hear me but i can still hear them
and i will hear them speak with their eyes closed for the first time

looking needing willing towards a banister in the darkness
a therapy session number passed around south london bathrooms
a contemporary confession booth trapping each insecurity inside a trembling voicemail
your voice cracks your silence dangles

one night i see you eating up breadcrumbs your parents left for you
i join you and we’re doing this together
you’ll say it’s funny how creases in our fingertips tell us who we are
but not how far you can run when your past has a head start
nor the amount of breath you can reach in and steal from someone.

i wrap myself around your waist rest my head to your stomach
to hear what futures you have been swallowing plans fermenting in the last five minutes

the sieve we inherit before i broke my arm balancing on the fence
tyre tracks left a divot in my hands that felt uncomfortable for anyone to hold

the light at the end of the tunnel reaches your face
in the backseat next to mine on the car ride home at 3am
i ask whether you can smell the burning and you kiss me on my temples
to remind me that you know the weakest spots of my skull