I could sit here hopeless.
A beige life at a beige desk
overrun with copper coins, constantly
counting, clutching,
capitulating in favour of
blue skies, white clouds.
Infinite majesty a roaring in my ears.

I've built a barrier around my space
with walls the colour of a winter sunrise.
and though your mood creeps up against them,
they hold.

Someone once told me spirits smell of onions but yours is more like
Bowls of coffee
Crisp winter evenings
A German fairground in October

He trails hope in his wake.
The path to his heart as translucent,
as mine is opaque.

Gentleness is blood
swelling from a tongue
bitten over and over
in suppression
of the words that break bones

100 fingers in a pie
Form a lattice
with the structural stability of
Baklava.
Liable to flake and crumble.

When you come to me, unbidden,
Beckoning me
To long-ago rooms,
Where memories lie.

Offering me, as to a child, an attic,
Gatherings of days too few.
Baubles of stolen kisses.
Trinkets of borrowed loves.
Trunks of secret words,

I cry.