Electric shadows

visit the flat, with popcorn.

The girls cut melon

in the kitchen. I get dressed

and join them. Sit next to him.

I learn what he likes,

and who (Ross is his favourite.)

How when he was small

a young God told him there are

only perfect intentions.

Actors converse for

us. I wear glasses for sub-

titles and faces

and if the nights were cold here

the hairs on our arms might touch.

We started picking

films my flatmates didn’t like.

Who do you love? Who

do you love? You love a car.

It flew backwards. He returned

with something ‘marmite’

love and life. The lady said

the prisons are full,

the zoos are overflowing,

the world dearly loves a cage.

I write that one down.

All around us living things.

Another one saved.

He liked that. Couldn’t believe

all the things I hadn’t seen

so he sent me clips

of best bits, blips, and trailers

a moving phrasebook

where I learned to speak to him.

Anything for my princess,

he said. Except that

when he left he took his discs.

I’m left with Netflix.

Piper says she’ll do to me

what Pablo Neruda does

to the Cherry trees.

I call him but words shrink things

down to episodes,

to pieces that start and end

in basically the same place.

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