Sitting at stop Eon 2am cold plasticWatching bus after bus we could have caughtdrive byDon't look at each otherCount the breathsbetween words Your nose breathing hard on my faceas we kiss for the last timeMy palm in the S of your backas your chest rises against mine We're not doing anythingbreatheWe can't do anythingjust breatheon my neckWe're not touchingbreathe gently on my neck Cool air passes into the nostrilsFills th...

"Fuck you"you say smilingas we shove each otherand boomerang back onto each others facesOur kiss urgent and starvingSpinning on the spottwo leaves blown togetherbackpack against the cold wallyou mock how I'm standingyour leg hooked around my hip and I'msteaminga laugh between kisses I saw the hair on her stomachI want to skim it with my lipI saw the hair in her armpitI want to stroke it with my noseI want to lick the back...

The bare white walls were barely white anymore, they were peeling, yellowing and chipped. Marked with zip scrapes, oil from various flat-mates bike-chains and the inevitable black mould. Black mould is endemic in London flat-shares. Creeping into corners by windows and along skirting boards. You take a book off the shelf, the mould has coasted down the spine and into the binding. You move a sofa and the wall shows it's si...