The heady scents of night recede,
Unfamiliar birds call, plaintively, into the lightening sky,
Morning-flowers unfurl, rich and lush and greedy for the heat.
Stars retreat, but the moon lingers, proud and unrepentant,
Fading, but resolute; a promise to return.
In this garden of delights I sit and think of you, so far away, oh,
You are so far, you are too far.
I close my eyes and dream that you are here with me,
Sharing the newborn sun.
Coy pink petals unfurl, to a sudden brazen blaze,
The day is here, and you are gone with the night,
Back into my dreams, I know you will emerge
When the thai moon rises, I know that you are with me
And I know that you are thinking of me,
Unfurling, opening up, reaching out,
Drinking in your love.

Isn't it funny how
any word with an x in it
is potentially
Dangerous, fascinating
And x-iting.
I wonder why?
It's just another letter.
***

Don't ever stop kissing me, in your dreams
Because I can feel those kisses, all of them.
Even as I sleep, I am joining you
In everything we long to do.
Your mouth moves on mine, my body responds,
Soft, trembling, urgent, overwhelming,
Your tongue tempts my own,
I taste you, you moan.
Please, dream-devour, tease, please.
I arch my back, and cry out,
Writhing fiercely in your arms.
And you cry out, into the abyss of the night,
I am your echo, mirroring the dream.

Instinct and impulse
Knotted, just below my ribcage
Push me into action
Urge me into words

Drowning, dreaming language
Downing, and devouring
Metaphors and images that all come back to you.
Never enough, never enough
Always too much.

I...Cannot...Get it...out.

If I cannot get this out of me,
It will fester,
Metastasize
Eat me alive.

What more can I say?
What more can I do?
Words are winged demons in my head
They drag me kicking, screaming, always, back to you.

If I could just be your little daydream,
Then that will make me happy,
Sharing a space
With all the other thoughts
In your beautiful mind.

London is an onion.
Not one of those big, brown juicy globes
you can buy in packs of three, from Tesco,
No, an earthy, shrivelled relic from an old geezer's allotment,
With trailing fronds and a few infestations.
If you were to take a bite, your eyes would smart and your body rebel with a cough, a shudder and a wheeze,
But moments later, a smile would be playing round your lips,
Such a sensory adventure, though not exactly pleasant, can still be savoured,
And you'll remember the taste forever.

Londoners are weevils, hiding in the layers.
Outer, inner, some of us worm our way between them all.
Me, I tend to head for the heart of the thing,
Soho, Southwark, the inner sanctums.
I sometimes venture nearer the surface, the outer edges,
But too close to the unknown, and unfamiliar air,
And I start to pine for the centre.
You can work between the layers,
But the many skins are tougher than you'd think,
Better to burrow down, find a place to sustain
The appetite of a hungry little grub.

I understand why they talk about a fine line.
It hurts my heart to look at you,
A physical pain
Manifesting in palpitations.
The western way to deal with pain
is to excise what hurts, what has malfunctioned,
What has gone bad within us.
In order to excise you,
I must force myself to hate you.
The alternative damages me.
I have to cut you out.

Speak to me again.
As your lips make words and sounds
I imagine them instead, moving over my skin,
I want them there, brushing past my hair,
Sliding down my neck, pausing for a heartbeat at my mouth
A trembling, teasing, barely-there brush, warmth and wanting,
A flick of your tongue against my lips,
Then down, to find the soft, yielding curve of my breast.
I think of you loving me,
Setting free your hunger to encourage my own,
Passions rising in a tidal wave,
The rapture of released restraint.
Willing flesh tugged by eager teeth,
You need to taste, I long to be consumed,
Gasping, once, twice, the damp heat of you
Spurs me to a frenzy, I am all aglow, a lava storm
Streaming forth in torrents, gushing, rushing
To you, always to you,
I want you in everything.
Speak to me again, my love,
As passions rage, our fates collide,
Speak of a love that will not be denied.

Lying with you, in our meadow,
Surrounded by wild flowers,
You playfully trace a finger
Down a skin-splash of sun.
Reaching in, your lips stroke my collarbone,
Making me shiver, even in this heat.
Our laughter trails the breeze,
And we ride this July high,
Lost in each other,
Kissing away all care.
I am bedded here, in flowers,
Opening up for you, like a tender bud,
Dipping, dancing,
Aching to be sipped.

Oktober
In September.
My world collapses
Amid the loamy stench of portaloos and stale spilled *****,
Indecency caught
Betrayal unearthed
Catastrophe birthed.
I enter Hell
A husk,
A shell.

You waited until I was at my most vulnerable
And then just shut the door
And closed me out.

You waited, you *******
Until I had exposed myself in every possible way, to you,
Despite terror, despite doubts,
Despite insecurity, anxiety and guilt,
Despite resisting and denying and holding you at bay.
You waited until THAT MOMENT
And withdrew.

You could have chosen
A thousand and one better moments
I would have been fine.
I would have agreed, and even felt relief
But no,
You had to pick the pivotal painful point
Of you and me
And you had to choose SILENCE
You had to just STOP
Inviting paranoia
Self doubt, and all these tears.
These **** tears
I am sick of these tears.

It was the wrong moment.
Perhaps that's the whole point,
The wrong moment was the right moment,
Because this way, it really is the end.

Anonymity is an illusion
He tells me.
He tells me,
No-one can remain unknown
On the World Wide Web.
Don't think deletion makes a difference,
Don't think that everything you've ever sent
Received
And posted,
Isn't hosted on a server
Forever,
Awaiting discovery and disclosure.
He could find me in minutes,
He could find me,
If he wanted to.
He doesn't,
But what if he did?
What if he did?
I would feel safer
If I'd posted intimate photos
Or sexted a thousand faceless strangers.
My poems are a diary of my soul,
My hearts' helpless, hopeful blog.
They expose me.
No-one knows me here,
But he could find me,
And he would know.
No-one is anonymous,
No-one is unknown.

We burn my children.
We smouldering kisses we light the touchpaper
And cover our eyes as they ignite.
From the heart of the flames
I strain to hear them screaming.

Not now, but soon

I will hear them crying
For Mummy
Who stepped into the fire
And burns there, bleeding lava tears
Unscathed.

The Moon and the Sun
Are having such fun.

Wait...
But you said you would
*** me up real good?
m' druuuunk n *****
An I really think you should...

Keep that promise, when we kissed...
A decade...several kids, marriage is
Nothing between friends so
Give me what you've got
I bet you've got a lot.

I have a new, jaunty bob,
And there's a stranger in the mirror.
Last time you saw me I had a short crop and a kiss curl.
Do I seem softer now, with my sleeker bangs?
Would you like the new look?
Would the change help us to move from the past?
You could pretend I'm someone different,
That the sharp cropped siren is someone else, long gone.
It might draw you in again.
That's not what I'm aiming for, and yet...
I'd be lying if I said that I hope you wouldn't like it,
And what does it matter?
You're gone. You will never again see
Any part of me.

I think I will
Cut off my hands
They have not served me well
And must go.
I will gouge away my tongue
It ought to be removed
Before it does more damage
My traitorous thighs -
I will line the path you longed to trace with kisses
With tiny cuts instead
Small, but deep
I’ll make myself a freak.
Then I’ll take the knife to my *******
You always liked them best
So I will cut, swift and clean, discard them in a little heap, trash,
They deserve nothing better.
And now, I am a tongueless, sexless, bleeding horror
Dismembered, a series of parts
On display for you,
Come see.
Penetrate my gaping mouth,
Rub the moisture from my thighs,
Gather up my *******,
Hold my hands
And own me, what you’ve made me
I’m all yours.

Why does my back hurt so badly
Every morning?
Is it because all night,
Through my dreams
I am carrying you home?

Or is it because
On waking,
I break a little more each morning,
Crushed by your absence,
Snapping under the weight of guilt?

Soon I will be spineless...like you.