Garlic, Almonds, a Moiety

Even when I don't wake up with that feeling
I wake up with that feeling;
The smell of almonds
An odour of garlic
a type of sweetness
Nimh
Which look of disgust was greater
or more disgusting
or more envious
on our shared bus, a trope for this house on fire we all wake up in,
You can't unring a bell
as I slowly return to my shell
put time into changing the wallpaper, the skirting boards, the cornices
the pointlessness
My fingertips ride the water's skin like my fingers think they'll ride along your skin
but neither break the surface tension
waterspiders
fastboats to days end
slowboats not to Jack & Danny
but to wrack and many
many
poisoned days.
Ink on my tongue,lip; I carry our shared heat like a lantern,
cold hands on a slip of paper
perhaps you'll call me later.