Written by Tommy King
I gaze on London’s tear-drenched towers,
Skylines in the rain,
Rivers drowned in pain,
Knowing – to be good is to suffer.
Your past resides in nameless streets,
Today – upon my hood.
Your future in the gentle breeze,
From clouds of dismay, a droplet of good.
I bear your weight like Sisyphus his boulder,
Your sugar-strung breath embracing my shoulder.
The towers shrink, then plummet,
Without you at their summit.
A tourist pulls her phone out—
She saturates the image.
Tear-drenched towers through a camera:
Morally indifferent.
Wind cuts through my hand;
I cannot grasp you here.
Me the sieve, you the sand,
We touch, you disappear.
Lost on the path between us,
No hint, idea, or clue.
Tear-drenched towers – hyenas,
Mocking my distance from you.
I see a soul in the river.
You swim on by, I think.
I realise you are drowning,
And as you drown, I sink.
My feet fall abruptly back on the land.
I smoke by a corner my favourite brand.
Exhaling love that time devoured,
Goodness fallen like tear-drenched towers.
