Culmea piscotului

You and Me and Everyone Else by Laura Dockrill

I’ve bitten all my nails off again, it serves me right.
I can’t pick up pennys off tables, file my nails or help to fish out splinters-
but in the winter I can wear gloves and never get the wool caught.
You love my fingers, my knuckles, my palms, my elbows, my knee-caps, my shoulders and my arms.
You haul me up - keep me calm like all-bran mixed in with lucky charms.
Sweet. Keeping everything moving.
Now I’m getting like that jealous girl in school, that leaves her bag and jumper on the seat on the coach on the way to the swimming pool. I have just got to sit next to you.
Ring you on Tuesday “What you wearing this wednesday?” Swap laces, Swap shoes, Swap socks, you get pizza, I’ll get pasta. Swap.
Drink from the same cup.
I want to go to your house, borrow your pyjamas- Smell like you.
Get all curled up and awkward, around that radiator - do my spine in.
Wake up too early, whilst you have a lie in.
“Can I use your toothbrush?”
Drink from your tap, let you make me laugh then flop into your lap.
Eye up your mantlepeice and cut up cheese for you into small squares and cook tea in the microwave and make a mess and misbehave and never go away even when we’re making the other one a bit claustrophobic.
I just wish that I could make us microscopic and trap us in a snowglobe and set up home - without a way out or even a housephone… let’s stay in and eat this out of date toblerone.
I want to use your mascara, pray we both get an eye infection and sleep in your little room all day - and eat meat and paint our faces.
I want us to be the spare set of cutlery- two small teaspoons that everone forgot about.
Sneak away to the back of the drawer and get found dusty. Out of use.
I want to get lost like two pages from an old second hand book -
from the yellow cracked spine, 24 and 26 we’ll fly through pebbles to the sea-
and float away like secret messengers to an island nobody can see.

(Source: luxlizbon)