Dear Not,
I fell in love with you ever since I fell out of that cave called womb.
Since then zero has been the favorite number and nil annihilates me every second.
The sunshine settles in April, a month more friendly for London, a month less friendly for those in business.
Dear NOT not,
My whatnot keeps me holding the rails of the underground on the stiff necks of passengers eyelidded dark and heavy down the sound of metal.
I have stepped on you often and then stepped back. Because I could not hate that which makes me lack.
Luck of lack I shall call it my love of not. I was born with you and seasons come and seasons get slit but you and I are here with heat and steam making room for more
negations and more annihilations of that which I am not.
Not me, not you, are you me or am I you? Not?
Play with me, you do, and I shall play you too.
