I love you
when the day exhausts its grace
when you wear my pious silence
in you nails

I refuse the touch of morning
just to breath your sleep in

you’re my axis mundi on a Wednesday
yeah,  it’s so natural and crazy
I shudder with this feeling
I search for my roots, I find you dreaming

I love you  
when you stir the ***** blues-smitten
the jazz, the blood
I’m your prophecy, you’re my bane
my lips won’t refuse the spell:
love you whenever.
I have died
again.

This is my life...
I hate that I'm not seeing more.
I hate that I'm not experiencing more.
I feel like I am wasting my life away
Into nothing.

And I hate that everyday
I'm held prisoner inside a government funded, cold brick building with people who drive me mad.
It only leaves me craving **more

Returning from Devon, along the M5,
No camera in hand, as I drove on by,
Crafted from the earth, it stood alone,
Like it was sculpted, out of natural stone,


Contorted but stunning, painted in black,
Missing the splendour, of the leaves that it lacked,
The majestic sun, beamed through each branch,
As I passed by, twisted shadows danced,


Out of view so quickly, yet stuck in my mind,
This distorted wonder, that I once left behind.

A maidenly form with goodly balcony:
Chic design of an unrivalled Architect.
Finely balusters decorate her dreamy
Shape--especial from fore to aft.

As the Shulamite's apples in Solomon's
Pleasing courtyard is her love in my
Heart, exchanging thus my flagons
With her berries on the bed of sapphire,

Until dawn choruses enter the day's ear--
Heaven's chandelier beams into the bower.

Love is Contagious,
In-surmountable & Unstoppable.
There is no antibiotic,
no cure,
for Love.
It cannot be negotiated
or destroyed.
It Just Is.
A self-perpetuating, unending well-spring,
that when fed,
will break through every dam
and drown
all that stand before it
with it’s Never Ending,
Life Sustaining,
Saving Grace.

And to think for most of my life i’ve not believed in it’s existence - In This All Things are Possible!

a thing most new complete fragile intense,
which wholly trembling memory undertakes
—your kiss,the little pushings of flesh,makes
my body sorry when the minute moon
is a remarkable splinter in the quick
of twilight
            ….or if sunsets utters one
unhurried muscled huge chromatic
fist skilfully modeling silence
—to feel how through the stopped entire day
horribly and seriously thrills
the moment of enthusiastic space
is a little wonderful, and say
Perhaps her body touched me;and to face
suddenly the lighted living hills