Grosvenor Road

the last train rattles the windowpanes of your

run-down walk-up waking you to cats wailing

under the burnt car on Grosvenor Road

on your narrow bed the new woman stirs in sleep

sparks arc in the circuits of her narcoleptic hair

under the thin pillow shimmers a chrome blender

you drop your drowsy hand in

the steel claw slurries your fingers

on rails mirror bright under light pollution

the trains worm with their mates

the Islington sky swells a faceless eggplant

babies crawl under the burnt car’s slashed tires

breathe in this woman’s dreams like nicotine

lean over sleep’s cliff face the choppy water below

dark as everything you can’t know

this shared room’s walls tilt towards the ceiling

fold your arm over her tender as a mantis talon

as sleep’s undertow drags you down

you hold each other and you each hold others

tight as secrets in the swollen eggplant night