In between moments of quietude and darkfall, I pick up my pen and write poems.
Silver Lining November 2013
Tired and weary eyed, I imagine the trace of my finger over your weathered yet airborne hand, in return for yours gently lining the inner landscape of my sinuous arm.
What has been?
A feathering of lofty words and skin whispering to skin.
I am aware of the fragility that is life, that is us.
Neither are matched at all by the voracity of time in its constancy and its lack of prejudice. Refusal to acknowledge mine own sliver strands, displaces denial.
Nothing is worth more
Than each moment, in its own breath.
Self Portrait October 2000
As I walk
I see your face, in the reflection of the glass window,
the cindering ash of my
I turn my back and run towards the sound of the great waves and swim down to mirror darkened depths,
Until I decide once again
Dream December 2003
I stand watching you frozen as we both get rained upon.
You are naked
I cannot see your face, it is covered with a white towel, both upwards facing and wet.
I call out to you -
now lost is the white towel, you begin to run away, faster with each step, the rain bears no hindrance.
I shout but no one can hear me
I am too heavy to run after you.
Saltwater January 2017
Waves within and still without
my darling twin soul.
This time here on Earth has been the most ineffably loving with you.
May our final days, our shared sleeping breaths together, be the joy, the sweetness and the gold you have always been for me.
Until I hold you again,
on another shore.
Happy Hour August 2016
A flung bag of pale sand spirals and scatters across a black tarquette. Sparks ablaze from the oncoming night train passing, engulf my feet as the grounds move around like two tectonic plates.
Flickering city window lights, Sunday slowing down,
I'm rushing home, refilling my salt reserves, in the vain hope my haste can further the longevity of my best friend. But really it is for more time to invest in together resting, tenderly.
Violin and piano sing out from another realm, foreboding loss whilst garnering the soul's sweetness,
a marker heralding a noble yet viscerally painful learning - the art of letting go. Grace and awkwardness simultaneously.
I hear Astor Piazzolla competing with the hot white noise in my ear canal, silence wins and blankets all past midnight. Heavy and thick.
Show me yours February 2017
I want to know who you are
I will show you my veins
Don't be afraid.
I am Body January 2017
The smell of sulphur, cold water drops crowning my temples and letting the deep and violent rumbles spark currents in my body,
for the first time I also hear the snap of lightning earth itself be way of the sandstone building near which I am perched.
I am my dearest beloved,
I am the storm.