The Attic

I lay on my back under the metal winding

down staircase.

Admire people's faces, 

and at the same time

feeling like the ground is swallowing me up.

I dream of cushions beneath me, as I could be happy to

look up at people alive, descending.

Besides the ground wants to swallow me up.

Pretty footfall, and clinging

and clanging.

Conscious of my hair touching my face and the cobbles;

where the ground is swallowing me up.

Do you still smoke?

I think about you from time to time

Fading memories resurface reluctantly

And feel unsure;

Do you still smoke?

 

I dream about you from time to time

Reach your house but can't see in

The view obscured;

Do you still smoke?

 

I imagine you from time to time

Picture your face but it blurs

And I wonder;

Do you still smoke?

 

I feel close to you from time to time

Sinking beneath bed clothes

Face under;

Do you still smoke?