We laugh a lot, don’t we?
This morning, for example, you
held me panting and shuddering against you,
picked at a crust of skin
on my ear and called me a
scabby little man. That
was a first, to laugh so loud and long
through an orgasm. And
the pigeons that we observe
on the roof opposite, the
way they communally bathe
in the rain-puddles, and you
say with great and obvious glee:
why are they so little? Yes, we do
laugh a lot. And we talk. And we
tell each other tales from our pasts,
our travels, our upbringings,
our countries and our cities
and all the million things that
happened to us in them. We
fill the space between us with noise.
We cram the flat with our voices. We
do not like dead air. If we see or even
suspect a breach, we fill it with our sounds
.
Niall Griffiths
Picture Chris Bill
.