I've got high-rises up my legs
A double-carriageway down my spine
Every inch of me is occupied by someone else.
You live in the suburbs behind the shell of my ear, on the soft skin you'd kiss to wake me.
It's a long, busy drive along my arms to reach the warmth of my palms. My grandfather lives there, cradled by the soft skin of my fingers which held his tight in the hours he was dying.
You'd need to get the bus to visit my mother. She's out on the coast of my scalp, wrapped in the ocean of my...