My Sugar Daddy is a feminist

my heartbeat in the darkness of the tv playing andrew scott woken from the baritone of your sleep

apnea / mornings in fog up the bridge and down the stairs to drown myself in the jubilee line

i met a girl of my hair color and vocal range / not of my loud mouthful socialclass

in the downstairsbedroom next to an almost-made-it-as-an-actor

my sugar daddy is a feminist

i tell them with my chest tall above mirror

astonishment was a cruel mother that forgot to give milk to her kinds so they turned to disbelieve and

disgust

i always had a way with intimidating people i just met in a dim light / the skinhead in the kitchen

breathed a balloon and my nausea is getting to me

as i read your

"so funny reliving all this great music with you. I feel like I’m a student again."

link to a shared playlist

remembering your "nick drake was a tortured soul

that's why he's a poet"

always wondered if i'm tortured enough to give words a meaning so that my friends small town father would get them as a walsticker for the homeoffice

i like the fact that i can always leave you and you are not allowed to be mad

not like a marriage full of knowledge about the other

knowledge of kids and aunts and how is this colour for the living room

and the first time she stays out longer

you are more gentle

like i am some linen you forgot the washing instructions to

you are one of my favourite mice in the clinical study of a drug i call my time

funny when i didn't realise it's effect

when i lost my head with a videogames addict who would let me finish my stories / you always let me

finish first

i like to see this as reparation i said once in a pub in Scotland close enough to my birthday to make me

delightedly drunk

and a swedish man readjusted his glasses

i like to see this as whatever your hospitality job is

or mine back when my boss touched my arm for too long for minimum wage / back when i cried

everyday before breakfast just to detox

now i only have enough tears for once a week and portion it in perfection and equality

my sugar daddy is a feminist

he lets me talk about the barbarians becoming an important workforce in the roman empire and my

critique on how we think they destroyed it is just the way the romans propagated the situation

while he kisses down my leg to the tip of my toe

and we discuss about specifics and definitions over a wine and my chamomile tea while people

watching the toxic relationship of the couple with three kids two tables away

i turn to my two hearted audience one deep in the table the other one thinking it's her turn to tell about

something you only tell in the smoke and drunkenness of a stranger's home at four in the morning

when council rings twice and all i remember is jumping over the greasy fence in the backyard

i want to go back to westminster, to the lobby, and to all the cities i'll only ever remember with you