Bristol Temple Meads

We walked to the station in a thieved silence 

As if we were mourning an absence that hadn’t yet happened 

I kissed you goodbye the pressed the angry face on the 

‘Rate your satisfaction’ machine 

I fucking hate train stations 

A hub of distancing lovers 

and of flurrying goodbyes gone unsaid 

Like so many ants running from a rain drop but secretly wishing it would drown them 

If this poem was my satisfaction with the non specific rail station today 

I’d tear it up and burn it 

I still might 

I hate this poem as much as I hate this station 

I’m going to throw myself on the tracks 

and drag this poem with me  

I want to kiss you until your lips bleed 

And hold your head in my hands 

Until it hurts you 

But the station has swallowed you 

And spat you back 

Missing you hurts because I love you 

And love is like……………….

Like a fire alarm going off because you’re smoking inside 

despite you putting a sock over it 

It’s like making eye contact through two pairs 

of very dark sunglasses 

Its like racing a ketamine filled horse 

and still winning 

And missing you

Is all the things I’ve just said 

In some disgusting bloody amalgam for odd hate 

And I blame the fucking trains