I'm the copper-headed creature, creeping around the corners of your house. You finish school, hiding bitemarks, little wounds of which you think maybe you're secretly proud. Fingers cross the piano, singing out "This is real love, this is real". Hospital beeps, light pools on the floor after the mian lights swtich off. I'm watching you dreaming, breaths rise inside you, ideas swell and dissipate. The monsters are hungry. Did you forget where this goes ?
I'm creeping low to the floor, trying not to wake you. In the early hours I'm out in the fields, chasing banks of fog across the damp grass. Wings skim overhead, starting out early. I can picture you peering out of the curtains at the fresh light, in your night clothes, wondering what I'm doing so early. I want you to wonder. I want you to realise where we're headed.
Towards summer and winter and an empty in-between, moorland calling, north-wind blowing, trees sighing, clouds covering. There is no future, there is only my love dying in tomorrows cold snow or warm rain and you packing thick jumpers for your parents house in the north.
I wanted this, I did, honestly.
I'm copper clothed, the fox scratching his claws. Are you awake ? Are you screaming ? Are we even alive at all ?
* * *
The night hangs under trees, mist lies in banks in the fields on the edge of town, sunrise means you squinting from the train window. I face forward, you face backward. I struggle with the layers to this. We can sleep the day away, curtains drawn, the matress on the floor, the way you like.
Outside the tress will be escaping the winter as buds struggle upward and leaves unfurl. It will feel as though we've been away for so long. I guess home isn't really home anymore.
* * *
The wolves are playing in the garden, the local kids are singing out on the fields, you're snoring quietly and I'm fucking terrified..