Brixton Station: Finding My Way Through Connection

we stood outside brixton station

hoping, waiting, anticipating

you said you like me

i replied back with audacity—

nah, you love me.

This was my first one-night stand.

A week later, lockdown hit and the world shut down.

Maybe that’s why I’ve never forgotten him —

not for who he was,

but for who I let myself be that night.

Strange. Intense. Audacious.

It was March 2020. I went out with my cousin in Brixton.

We had drinks at Turtle Bay (nice drinks, shit food — I said what I said).

Singing and drinking, till the bar was closing.

There was a vibe in the air like the world was ending, in a way it did.

Walking past the corner shop, my cousin points at a guy:

“Oh my God, I know him…he’s from Leicester!”

I always feel soo connected when I see someone from Leicester in London. 

It’s like seeing a little piece of home.

She did not know him.

She just wanted to get rid of me.

He was not from Leicester…he was from Croydon.

I start yapping:

“Oh my God, how do you know my cousin? Where are you from in Leicester? clock tower… you know what i mean?”

He plays along, asking me about family like he’s known us for years.

Meanwhile, my cousin vanishes. Poof.

She always disappears on nights out.

She needs a toddler leash, honestly.

He says, “I’ll help you find her.”

I call my cousin. She’s fine.

Then he says, “I’ll help you get home.”

So we get on the tube.

I stand up, hold the pole in the middle carriage,

and start performing my poetry.

He tells me he likes me.

I tell him he loves me.

Like and love are a thin line.

Who wouldn’t love me?

I am absolutely incredible.

He was watching me in awe, or maybe it was fear or maybe it horniness.

Hard to tell…it could have been all three.

Either way, I continue yapping poetry for my captivated audience.

We’re outside Canada Water, I’m on his lap, repeating:

“You’re in love with me. You’re in love with me.”

He laughs. I smile. Delusional, drunk, but electric.

He says, “I don’t know how I’ll get home.”

I roll my eyes back in my head, speak in tongues, whisper,

“I do juju. Do not try me.”

He’s terrified. I realise I like scaring men.

Then I say, “You can come home with me now.”

At my place he takes his shoes off.

I read him more poetry.

We make out. He sucks my tits. We dry hump.

And honestly? It was fun.

Because I was in control.

I did not push myself to engage in acts, I was held, I was kissed and it felt blisssss.

To me this was the best sex.

And please — bring back the art of dry humping.

In the morning he follows me to Victoria Coach Station.

We kiss. He looks me in my eyes for a long time.

Then he says, “I love you.”

I smile. I say, “I know.”

We never spoke again.

Maybe that’s why I remember him.

not for who he was, but for who I let myself be that night: delusional, brave, messy, magnetic. A week before the world shut down, I was still wide open.

Mr Brixton Station 

I love you xoxo

CONNECT

the release 

i burrow into ur skin 

to forget about the world 

to be intertwined 

to call you mine

be in the moment 

to catch ur eye

i am willing to lie

by your side

it can be a dream, a distraction, a form of medication 

a fleeting moment 

a goodbye 

a hello 

it is magic & its power 

it can destroy 

it can rebuild you

it will show you a whole new world 

you have never seen

or been before

how do we define it?

lingering eyes 

windows to your soul

sharing memories 

of places

that no one else knows

nakedness

metaphorical & literal 

to 

  see 

       you

             in

your most

natural form

as you stand before me 

stark

like Adam & Eve 

as they stood under 

the tree

not just taking 

you into me

physically 

intertwining spiritually 

A look 

A touch 

A knowing 

sewing the seeds 

of desire 

it’s 

nothing 

and 

something 

done by many 

for 

      years

              for life 

for power 

the dance 

known by many generations 

it has many 

iterations 

defined by two 

sometimes more 

what is sex?