We made great neighbours
you and I. Like the time
I lobbed string from
my window to yours,
forging a zip-line,
a tight rope-bridge
We held on, feeling the tug
of each other's hands. Puzzled,
you mouthed me a question
I answered in mime, and in no time
you were in on the scam. On my side.
Soon we were synchronous:
licking frayed ends,
lacing them through the bases
of pierced tin cups. Our fingers ringed
with twined fibres, we both
tied knots on top of knots
until the cups held, as obvious
yet genius as a bathroom plug -
a defiant, teenage umbilicus.
You held your cup against your chest
as I nervously pressed
mine over my ear,
muting my breathing. Yes!
There it was! - your heart
running into my skull, your blood
drumming inside my head!
That night I dreamt
of kites flying in a storm,
kites with strings fused Siamese,
nothing tying them to Earth at all,
their ribbons holding hands in mid-air
with only lightening to keep them warm.
Neil Singh is a physician based in the UK who teaches at Brighton and Sussex Medical School. He completed a Masters in Public Health at the American University of Beirut. He occasionally writes poetry, songs, and non-fiction.