Who lives in a squat in Bradford
Of all places.
His face is causing a racket.
Can you stop it please, if I smile sweetly
Enough?
Ingredients being, one serious smile,
Thick head of buoyant hair atop
And that thing that I bump into everywhere
- Footnote to a cut throat razor loss.
But I cannot comprehend
This suffering (having never had to).
A pillar of existence shot down
Leaving half-armed
With tinted windows, the three of them.
He is an opportunist
Who wants to visit India and
I want to go with him.
I've only met him twice, three times
But his fine, quiet featured gentleness
Is already inside,
And when I learn his Pirate name
It all
Falls further into place.
He travelled West Yorkshire
On a day rider for three months once.
This is impressive and an easy trick.
Does his shopping out the back of
Sainsbury's - their throw-aways
Indicative of collective waste.
He understands that possession
Is three-thirds of the law that
Keeps us residing in fear
And he reminds me of Into The Wild.
Listens to Joni Mitchell in the morning
And wants to go walking.
Yet meetings are skewed as afterwards,
Balanced in the tree position, I lean
Towards his sun.
It's tempting to jump headlong into a
Pool of him; spend hours meditating upon
Each other's lips, faces and fingers.
Quickly, redress this!
"Keep control of our own time and basic space -
Be cautious, as always", he suggests.
'Tis a special one though
The spiritual 6 in numerology,
United by words and books and worlds of thought,
By lands of home and lands apart
That time forgot - And I touch
His soul with my palm as we each stand alone.
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