Last-night
there was an eclipse;
But not of blood orange
shadows
draped on a dazed moon.
No.
'twas of my blood red
pulsing heart
accepting its solitude
in the shadow of yours.

Today, a door was left ajar.
My thoughts have escaped me;
I wonder if they know not to play in traffic
or strike matches found in the tool shed.

I'll wait 'till dark before I worry.

Like ivy wound
and woven through
trellis;
you envelope
my very being.
Curling, gripping
clutching my skin.
Inching upward,
reaching for
wispy blue skies.
Perhaps you are
climbing beyond
me.
I ask only that
you do not slight
my role in your
rise.

My little helium filled heart
floats off into the clouds,
free from the weight of itself.
It makes miniatures of buildings
losing sight of material things.
From its' skewed perspective,
high in the stratosphere,
It has grown bigger than
the earth itself.

There is poetic sadness
in finally reaching happy;
a lust for inspiration
in the openness of the
universe it creates.

Forever beating heart;
Why do you flee
the safety of
my chest once more?
Is it so that
you may confront
your opponent...
has the mind provoked you?
Perhaps you sailed north
of your own accord;
to pry open my lips
and pour out love
as I battle to suppress
your persistence.

Sometimes I wonder
Whether I truly fear
the spider
or I have simply
become obsessed with
its every move.
Sometimes, you are
that spider.

Delicate shoot,
not yet anchored...
How you fail to foresee
your beauty adorned
on this wilderness.
You are weak now.
Rest.
One day your silhouette
will dance on the horizon.

I love her most
When the dawn glow
makes shadows on her face.
When the fog of unconsciousness
has relaxed limbs
and warmed her soft skin.
When her waking woes
have played out in dreams.
When her hold tightens
and I let go of
everything but her.

I wonder how it felt before;
Before the perfect fit
of my hand and yours.

Ever look to the night sky beyond tiring windscreen wipers?
They screech, exasperated by an army of droplets hurtling downwards.
Ever lean on the dashboard gazing upwards into the downpour?
Constant and linear; like how stars zoom past spaceships in old movies.
A whole universe of dazzling stars.
That's how she lived; her aura a universe peppered with light.
Light forever radiating towards captivated eyes.
Oh, she loved with a love unparalleled.

I wish to enter your mind;
to scrub clean its walls
of frenzied brush strokes
and scribbled words.
I will not stop
until my hands blister;
until I make of you
a blank, echo-filled room.
Only then, will I
leave for you my art;
A single flame,
glowing bright
to fill and warm.
You will only feel it.
But all will see it
in your eyes.

**Let me in...

Words swirl through parting crimson.
Each syllable reflects on
the warm surface as it passes.
Some are almost drawn back
by the delicate wisp of breath.
Others are bitten off
stalled by a thought,
a look...
that look!
A tooth gripping soft red.
Released, the cherry
lips fall back in place.

Another butterfly flees my chest.

I love the look of words
written down line by line;
their flirtatious teasing
along feint ruled ivory.
The gentle drop of letters
below unrestricting lines;
the emotion immortalised
in each cross and dot.
Most of all, I admire
the finality:
the beauteous dedication
and commitment
of that pen... to this paper.

Darkness plots and plans in hiding.
Shadows whisper undisturbed.
The next room, below the floor;
It cowers behind all we can see.


But light!
A renegade strand of you,
finding but a keyhole
ignites the dark.

Dust dances with your touch...

I stop and inhale,
drawn in by the beauty
of cherry blossoms
and discarded petals.
Like confetti
dancing in a soothing
Spring breeze,
they celebrate
the arrival of Sun.
Twigs unfold seeking
light;
like new-born fingers
loosening grip
and spreading out
into tiny reaching
hands.

What is a poem?
A lilting of words?
An image of voices
forever unheard?
What's this picture of symbols
all ordered in lines?
What's this rare combination?
Did it take her much time?
What makes the pattern
or rhyme start to flow?
What sets it apart
from the prose or the scroll?
Is it empathy recalling
some rose-tinted dream?
Maybe it's laced in darkness
the vile or obscene?
What is a poem?
Some words written with tone?
What are these lyrics
Sung straight from my bones?

Shaking, tossing, turning,
Stomach knotted; churning,
Light of day I'm yearning,
Darkness fades for you.

Raging, pulsing, chasing
Heart is pounding; racing.
Creaking boards I’m pacing.
Make haste morning dew.

Stirring, calming, slowing,
Curtains lightened; glowing
Misty solace growing,
My mind returns, renewed.

I have conjured up
an aversion to empathy.
It only opens the heart,
awarding her influence
over the mind.



*I know how she feels.

I'm forever fighting
the urge,
the want,
the neeeed,
to know the
source code of your
silence;
To see the matrix
of your thoughts.
To know how your feelings
color them.

The
distorted
feather of
cigarette
                 smoke
                                         trails
                              upwards.
             It dances
                                    on the
                                             first
                       wisp of wind;
escaping
                 the draw
                                 of cracked
                weasened
lips.
Lips
formed of
                                      withered apple skin
                                                         and stale coffee;
                                            of puckered
                         mouth
              and deep
inhales.
                             Hunched shivering
                                                       shoulders hoist a
                                                                                            shaky hand
                                                                                          toward the
                                                                                    face.
                                                A raspy exhale releases
                        another puff of smoky breath.
The icy air exaggerates
the capacity of old
and tiring lungs.

I foresee this rarely preempted fate.


I quit!

You take my
   favorite breath
   from me.
   The one I
   draw through
   sweet smelling
   hair, splayed
    on fresh linen;
   when the curve
  of my arm
   and the crease
   of your neck
  agree.

Down in the depths of a wilderness;
the derangement of **** and of wisp.
A creature is arched in a hunker
over bundled leaves; golden and crisp.

Its' blistered hands riddled with splinters
Its' tired face blackened by dirt.
Its' glowing and warm disposition,
Worn pale by commotion and hurt.

It is wary from cold and from torment;
the dark of the forests damp chill.
But it scuffs at the bones as with tinder
igniting the marrow with skill.

Wiping its' brow with its' forearm
the creature desists with a gasp
Smoke trails up through the forest.
A spark has alighted at last.

The flame inhales fallen pine cones;
blazing up through the bramble and briar.
Excitement and fear harmonizing,
'till their voices can't sing any higher;

'till the heart is consumed by her fire.

Soft-footed and delicate,
you tip toed your way into
my head last night.
Having scaled warm cheekbones
you pried apart my eyelashes;
teased apart my flickering eye lids.
Stepping under the soft pink canopy,
you found a nook.
Curling up, you pulled closed
wafer thin skin, to keep you safe;
to make sure that
even while dead to this world
you are all I see.

I feel like a photograph.
One taken of myself
while I was moving too quickly.
The shutter didn't capture me
with defined crisp outline.
A blur of me chases my every move.
A clinging specter.
A lingering sensory experience.
A light trail, as I head towards the dark;
as I leave you behind.

It is an irony
to finally find yourself
only to realise
you are utterly
lost
in normality.

I will not try to find
'the one'.
I will search for the
one thousand and one
things in you,
that lead me to
find myself.

There are depths within you
To which I cannot reach.
Where water drips
and echos in an
obscure cavern.
Where each drop leaves behind
its narrative,
on the pore from which it fell.
A story untold.
The vast space makes echoes of heartbeats.
But deafening silence resonated,
the day your heart skipped but one.

I am without poetry;
Without verse or rhyme.
I am cleansed of all torture;
Have no concept of time.

No longer frantic,
nor riddled with woe.
I have fled from self-pity
to a land of unknowns.

A space so reckless,
it tickles the skin.
My demeanour is calm
but I'm woozy within.

Love rushes to greet him,
palms slippy and warm.
Relieved that my body
Still longs for those arms.

Heat flows round the shadows;
My soul's once more kissed.
But I've been without poetry;
She's the one that I've missed.

A malady of spirit has taken up residence
somewhere in the gut.
Its' presence is announced by hollow sounds
and the falter of hands.
Beneath puckered brow, my jaw has tightened.
Clenched. Rigid.
I float on inflated irony, somewhere in the gap between
nostalgia and regret.
Like a flat rock meant to skim the surface...
I've been flung too hard by a lazy grip.
I look towards the surface as sunlight fades from view.

I know now why it's called
'rock bottom'.