Confessions of the Naked Touch

On the central line to mile end
           london tries to set alight
rom the chewing gum wrapper
crammed         into the overhead light

Rivulets of      strangers
WE ARE THE PEOPLE WHO FLOODED YOU

Glut a carriage            wrapped in glass
and studio audience laughs
breath peeled off in wet cloth
smothering the            shrieking from a speaker

FOR A MOMENT WE ARE     GODLESS
our   bodies are cities

Then lurching through this labyrinth
with little objectivity              big watches
heavy gold      handicapping meat hands
            the first to go under

Coughing into tissue confessionals
or newspapers             clinched    between fat

This city bears the weight of so much hate
when razorblades become doorways
to better days
the tube           empties and refills

A neutered machine stroking your thigh
           I LOVE YOU AND THIS LOVE IS REAL

Into blurs of purblind ghosts
convulsing to repeal their absence
between carriages in hollowed bone
                        i hear the hissing confessions

Of        sexless lips and sinners
the nurse pulling a cigarette from her purse

Instead we drown,       collectively
in sweat and flicking shoulders
to the memorised shuffling
of the               bumps and jumps

For lack of a yellow pole
WE WILL DANCE TO THE MEMORY OF DESIRE

While bent eyes rearrange their waiting
to the underside of nails
or a phone’s bruised light
snail-trailing its portrait

Across hologram hands
I WANT YOUR TOUCH HERE AND HERE

                        Watching each-other
through slivers of peripherals
            we undress into new-born pith
into naked       flesh and love

by Coco