Our Zombie Romance

My mother’s hand-me-down legs took me to the edge of the city, another walk to exorcise another bout of self-pity, a stray sniffing the streets for its half-chewed serendipity; you never keep down luck addicted to toxicity.

I’d been haunting my footsteps in those last days, hood plucked, head ducked, a shadow in the haze stumbling over broken glass blind drunk in the maze.

I’d woke up in the same costume from the night before that well-worn cross-dress between a nice boy and a whore, Through time and space I tripped towards the hallowed ground of used-up skins and crumpled tins: the old hedonists’ playground.

The final resting place of the lost and then found was little more than a skip; the city’s dumping ground for runaways and naked clowns and all dogs made to be put down.

Hidden amongst the weeds, I found our shallow grave dug out with bare hands under a stone with no name A job half-done, aborted and abandoned lovers half-sunk in mud and quicksand and sea-salt leeching bones and hearts exposing we lay in embrace still decomposing.

O how I’d gut our grave just to take you for one more dance O how this glutton craves for one more night inside your pants O how this slut unashamed would offer his heart for one more chance To wear your skin again and waste away in our zombie romance.

© Josh Lonsdale, 2020

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