The Interview

That time we talked about time, blind to how we tick 
And I pretended to be real 
I saw paint peeling over your shoulder 
The sun striped your lapels 
 
I was lost in translation   
While your fingers tapped a mute tattoo 
It’s true I was floored by a morse code inquiry  
Could you feel the room breathing slow, 
or hear the sound of blood flow? 
You caught me comparing wrists 
 
I saw a shadow split your collarbone and the silver chain it stole 
While we traded words in search of something 
I tallied the bricks in the wall, outside 
all the buildings that you built  
I’m condemned to memorise 
 
Intonation arrests my mind 
Do you know your accent chimes like  
carved staccato honeycomb? 
My eyes are on license to glimpse but not adore 
Meaning dies beneath the footfall in the corridor  
 
I’m in the margins you annotate 
my mind on a sliding scale  
where it fails 
I haemorrhage the bits your monologue omits  
Trawling austerities in my sandpaper archive  
A hole-punched history repeating ’til I slump  
Rolodexed to destruction