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http://soundcloudcom/user-856373367/luke-allan-first-winter-in-iceland   First winter in Iceland     Some mornings we’re woken by the sound of our neighbour sneezing I raise the blinds and drink the night-dulled water Half a pizza is sleeping in an open box in the carpark, topped with shimmering slices of rain The name sprayed on the wall of the bakery is my stepdad’s, but it seems so unlike him to assemble his ashes back into a body and be ready to start over A map in the window explains they are moving to a red circle containing a bakery from the future The rim of this glass tastes of both our mouths In the shower I sing guitar solos, and sometimes you come in to brush your teeth, and I feel love A woman is brushing her teeth and is my wife, I think Because sometimes it is hard to say out loud the thing you absolutely feel Then two ambulances pass each other heading opposite ways, and the morning is lost       https://soundcloudcom/user-856373367/luke-allan-with-our-bodies-and-our-promises     With our bodies and our promises     You were in the bath, give or take Singing, ‘a single sip of coffee and my whole voicebox goes up in flames’ to the tune of Silent Night   Outside, as it were: amazingly real-sounding rain A drizzle so regular you could picture the shapes of the things it was falling on   One thousand years passed   O boy, those fingertips When you brought them together they made a little whoosh like sealing tupperware or what I thought it must be like to open an airlock on a space station ‘Welcome home, stranger,’ we sang, to the tune of  ‘welcome home, stranger, we sang’     https://soundcloudcom/user-856373367/luke-allan-lemon-ode   Lemon ode     This is how yellow feels between your fingertips Like a hard rain drop, or a soft star Like a stone with its moss on the inside Throbbing, silent, actual If  thoughts are the eroticization of consciousness, then lemons are the eroticization of sunlight Their pips scour the dark like owls