Guilty Nothings ('Happy Birthday')

...

These
Girls
And boys are
Ghosts. They meet me every day
And go home and die and reanimate
Before they meet me again, tomorrow. 

They whisper in my right ear
Drunken soliloquies, and
We pretend that each is another
And satisfy ourselves.

...

The sunlight on your leafy
Veranda was real. It burned a tattoo on

My right forearm as I lay with you, down
On your veranda, as
We scandalized your neighbours.

The broken metal chair on that
Veranda was real. I used to look
At it while you undressed
Your fears for me, sometimes; sometimes
You'd undress your ears and naked,
They were so shy. They
Used to surface, and peek out at me (sometimes)
From underneath
The sea of your hair.

Your childhood clock
That hung from your bedroom wall was real.
I took the broken chair, and
Flung it against your
Bedroom wall, and it hit your clock and
Time burst
Into a million pieces of
Old plastic.
And we smiled and held hands
And later, on your bed, measured out the rest of the day
In each other's heartbeats. 

Your glass-walled eyes were as large as
Cigarettes, as
They watched me roll a tube of herbal
forgetfulness;
And soon it was done, and we 'borrowed'
Your father's lighter, but the flame
Was inside us.

And I would steal
Coloured bottles from
The glass cupboard, and
Dilute my blood to the
Soundtrack of your nervous laughter,
As you delighted in vicarious
Guilt.

And naked you were the day
We smoked the drowsy stars on the
Quilt of your parents' bed.
And we both exploded.

The quilt caught the charred feathers;
They floated on the quilt before
They dissolved into nothingness
And we dissolved into nothingness
And nothingness dissolved with us.

And for an infinite second,
The mind stopped. The pale

Fear that like fire feeds

Off the crosses of our lives

Died like Christ, and was replaced

By a benign vacuum (nought).
We only
Heard the ticking of the
Bedside clock, and
The snores of your dog, as she slept, and
Each other's ventricles as they
Pumped away dully; like an ancient
Beast who has forgotten why she
Exists.

A damp scent lay heavy, as a reminder
Of the fate of requited love.
You wore the quilt like a bridal gown
And we galloped away into an all-forgiving slumber.

...

How can this much happiness be immoral?

...

I remember your 18th birthday. I remember looking at you from across an over-priced-pasta laden table, while you laughed like a demented penguin at some joke our friends made. I smiled and mouthed sweet nothings at you, and you giggled and darkened to the colour of your dress. I remember how afterwards at your house I reclined on your bed as you washed up in the little washroom adjacent your little room and your mother cooked biryani for us and your father played with your overweight Labrador retriever. I remember thinking that right in this moment--within the span of this infinite second--I was safe inside the bubble of my happiness. I was happy.

I am happy. 

Happy birthday, Dani. I hope you like your gift.