I melt away accelerating,
pining to gawp at him dressing.
Libra's scales are out. A moonrise
levitating, love's ghost.
I activate the bitter end of a gulp of Bacardi
a silver liver-lining
to clamp grim nerves. His video is shaking.

He is an apocalypse.

A trick of light with blackout hair,
plum adhesive jeans,
cheekbones numb as rock,
an aweful shattering colour.

I meet doom on the Metro,
the frostbite of a kiss.
We sink into the revelry
a single-type hails me with a gate-crasher
"This is Nick's girlfriend," he says.