Wednesday, 9 November 2011


A thin pane of glassy pain
Seems to be separating us right now.
It’s icy to the touch, and fills
Me with a chill that it may never melt.

The heat of what we use to have
Seems quiet; it flowered for a
Week or two, and now is dwindling,
Giving off a warning, un-warming sorrowful smoke.

First-passion’s edge will dull
When the world and distance press on bones
And minds like the greedy weight of gravity
With a constant repression.

Do you miss me too, in the cloud of your unallocated
And mysterious sorrow?

Monday, 31 October 2011


I can still feel the dull ache of you
In my limbs.
You linger, like a quiet
Ember in the muscles of my stomach
And arms; the ghosts of
Exertion dancing a fiery heat
Under the surface of my bones and flesh.

I can still see you, sprawled
And peaceful on the white sheets,
With your ivory skin a subtle
Dapple in my memory.
The tenseness of your body still hangs
Underneath my fingertips, and I can taste
You in the crook of my elbow.

I can still hear the moment
When we connected and collided
And unravelled upon each other,
With lips and hands and other miscellaneous
Parts of the un-cohesive whole linking
And twisting like a spider web
And tearing in a moment.

Monday, 12 September 2011


The wind snatches at the hill-tops
And the insides of my ears,
Clawing inside of my mind
And whispering about what lies
Beyond the sea, and high up
Above the clouds.
It dances along my skin with
A thousand swinging feathers
That hook upon my clothes
And tug me up until I’m dizzy
With resistance, and the hard
Stones seem to relinquish my feet.
It makes me feel the unbearable
Lightness of being Milan Kundera
Wrote a novel of, and when the
Wind realises I’m far too
Prosaically rooted to this world,
It runs off without a backwards glance.
Fickle as desire.

Sunday, 4 September 2011

Slender Ship Of A Bridge

I felt out of love with them today, 
For a few minutes on a train, as
A sea of trees and green fields
Rolled and undulated beneath the
Slender ship of a bridge I rolled across.

It felt so strange to not have the
Thought of their thoughts inside me, and I
Pondered this empty, happy void
Within me. It had the silence of a
Quiet, tidy room.

The familiar feelings of longing crept back
In, rushing like greedy air into a vacuum.
But for a brief while, I felt clean
And inconsiderate. I miss
Not missing them.

Saturday, 3 September 2011


You’ve got the silk-wrapped
Trees in the palm of your hand.
You can just reach out and
Shake the branches of them,
And scatter fruit all over us.

You’ve got the unassuming hills under the
Soles of your shoes. Every footstep you
Take leaves a valley, or cracks
Open a hole, for a stream to
Spring from (or for a spring to stream out).

You have my heart as a secret
You don’t even know of yet. You
Can squeeze it or set it free and not
Even be aware of doing it. You’ve already
Got my world - what’s one more piece of it?

Thursday, 1 September 2011


There’s a taut steel wire in you. 
I can see it straining against the pressures
Of the world, and the lack of stress
You show scares me.
No one can take that kind of
Weight and not be warped.
Sometimes I fool myself
Into thinking it’s snapped,
And it’s flailed and smashed the walls
Inside of you. Let down that
Inner drawbridge and allowed
The world to storm your fortress.
But you’d never do that. It would mean
Letting go of your sardonic smile
And your quick cold comments
And not being held to the ice and
The floor by twined steel braids.

Tuesday, 30 August 2011


She’s a shadow that hides behind the sun.
A trickster, joker, a muse
(But not a nun).
To speak to her is to peruse
A library in disarray,
In an elegant chaos that spreads
Like wildflowers and promiscuity in May.
She’s the sound of brass horns, and the whirring in heads.
Everything about her is a whimsy,
She moves like happiness.
Her friendship is as flimsy
As platinum (which is worth far less).
Her eyes are the grey-blue of the welcome storm
And she is beautiful in the same way.
She’s shifting and changing, with no true form.
She’s reckless, and fey.