here is my latest guest writer, in fact poet – i met Zoe at Suryalila on the yoga retreat and was taken by her inner beauty and zest for life –  she entertained us all with her poems and songs.  Zoë is a London-based dance teacher/mother/student of osteopathy who makes sense of life through writing among other things.

At Old St a crowd surges on, doors
shut us in,
nightclub close.

A man,
groin, chest,
from mine. One
corner of
white shirt untucked
from belted jeans.
The carriage is warm and damp, bringing
the smell of his beard.
Hand skin on
blue bar,
armpit open
like a child.
He gazes into his
headphones, oblivious to the train dancing
our bodies. My
breasts, his lips,
like a butterfly. A pull,
to put my face in his, like
the illogical
urge as the train wind rushes,
to jump
from the platform into
the void.

A day of screen vacuum. Limbs light
with absence.
Now bodies nudge mine, arms weave like branches.
Mammals, cave warm.
As if we could hear the crackle, and
smell woodsmoke- the odour
of collective millennia.
The train wobbles our warm flesh
together. But I breathe secretly
the comfort of a flank against mine.

I get off at angel and walk home to eat
vacuum packed Salmon and seal
tomorrow’s lunch in tupperware

Zoe Solomons


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