In a poem we are tipping horchata down a drain, holding hands,
laughing
and in love
the way we were in life
transcending the romantic or the familial
to confuse every friend and parent,
the girl who hit on you in the vampire themed bar-cum-pizzeria
and glanced at me nervously to see what I would say
in a poem we are eating pizza,
in a poem we are sucking blood
through silly straws
`
I killed you in poems once
and placed you on high up unobtainable shelves
and in another we are preserved on the bridge over Camden Lock
where you licked ice cream and flicked hair out of your face
so I could take the perfect picture
you’re trapped in there too, of course,
but it doesn’t convey the longing
the soothing rush of slipping into something warm and comfortable
knowing it would last forever
not anticipating the tapas we would eat with lovers two years
and 400 yards away
that would be the crack, the fissure
the thing I would prod at tenderly with my tongue to make myself wince
but in the poem we’re still there
it’s June, always
the sun high and scorching
I’m in dungarees, you’re in that little black top with the sunglasses pulling at the v neck
there’s a litany of other people frozen in the background
and maybe in real life they all hate me too
but in the poem they are static and hazy
the ice cream is almost gone
but there’s enough for a few mouthfuls more
and we are smiling
at each other
Chloe McIntosh (She/Her) is a poet living in Hertfordshire, UK. She has a BA in English Literature from the University of Exeter and was shortlisted for the Platypus Press Celestial Bodies Poetry Prize while studying there. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Briefly Write, Utopia Science Fiction, Lucent Dreaming’s For a Friend Anthology and elsewhere. She likes Scottish folklore and thinking about all the friends she no longer speaks to. You can find her on instagram at @chloemcintoshwriter