Poetry by Ben Britton

Tooting
 
it’s romantic
being with you here
in the light of the passing ambulances
 
i’m sorry i keep looking at the time
sweetheart   i do only want
to be with you
 
irises grow
 
you put your bare chest
to mine
 
 
 
the mistake of the sober morning
 
you can trust me haven’t you noticed yet?
i sound better when i’m caring, more middle class i mean
you know i’ve never met anyone so similar not one
although i’ve been in love and with a lot of guys –
i don’t mind you snoring but could you cut out the philosophical crap?
neither of us had latency periods anyway.
and did i tell you about my childhood
or the time i saw Uncle Paul’s ghost
or the time i lay hallucinating on the bathroom floor and afterwards couldn’t call you just sip tea in bed with death in my lap?
you pee too much but that’s okay
i’ll masturbate whilst you’re in the bathroom.
don’t lie there lie here.
this is all so marital
don’t go to sleep just yet though –
 
i sigh
slide an arm over
and close my eyes.
i see the alternative
does not have the word
love
in it.
 
 

seems like
 
you want to go out tonight?
i thought we were going to stay in
and see the new Jeffery Dahmer movie.
poke holes in your jumper
with a biro pen
you got paint on my shoes
like a little kid
Flames Trees – Thika
i think something’s gone wrong
for a moment i thought you were leaving?
breakfast at the lebanese
silent   miserable shwarma
my favourite
 
 
 
running away
 
the pool is empty is empty
all the birds are now dead
no i’m not going to take off my shirt for you
instead
await the earthquake to shift the beam from above my bed
Lombardy, 1753
and slip away out the window
 
come   righteousness   a gun
and dont leave me waiting here
at a crossroads maybe? bah
the crosswords we do for love
 
two frightened and alone
to say much about anything except Vout
and the drilling in the wall and keeping a mind
on where the passports are at all times
you went through the things of my house
naked when i left you
just like you were that time i said something perverted
 
something’s wrong? no? and far away
handpicked fruit is being painted –
i dont want your excuses i want your money
 
shall we do it?   when?   tonight?   i’m not
ready
sex and death i said were all that mattered.
what a responsible adult
theyve grown in to

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Bio: Ben Britton is a writer studying in the south west of the UK, although was brought up in the Big City. He has had a few poems published, and was selected to be a judge for the 2017 Poetry Super Highway annual contest. He enjoys Chinese food and walking in the rain.

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