Drying blood on old teeth.
Poor old things.
A life of events, and nothing to say?
I love you -
I can say that
It's not fair -
I can say that
It happens everyday -
you could say that.
But not to me.
This is gritty.
This is salt in my eyes.
This is the devil,
popping my spline with a pin.
But
The Teeth
The Mind
The Hair
you are beautiful.
Red on yellow teeth,
that is my beauty.
A dull harsh moment
slow realization,
my last words
that I breathe, for you,
could only be,
that I'm sorry.

When the guests arrived we would hasten to sit in separate rooms.

Quick to cover and observe deep voices through walls,
Men with domed hats and flowing kameez would arrive and wait
for steaming chaaval,
brought in a mound topped with cloves.

Dishes placed and eyes down, they would acknowledge with
half nods,
hairy knuckles to pour the saalan over geometric bowls.

My aunts would hush in the kitchen,
pinning their scarves in a zig-zag fashion.
The colours burning from the tiles,
watching them made me dizzy and inside
I longed
that my plait would one day thread gold like theirs.

Timed silence was a key,
and a pyramid that was never fell,
unlike the tasks that could be
stitched to your hands,
structured stiff – like a testing lap.

Boiled milk in china cups,
there would be nods, gap-tooth smiles, low chatter
with ears pricked to
the humming of satisfaction within.
Sounds through division that showed that yes,
in the right hands
the colours could burn brightly,
and that yes,
in a brush of joint henna,
we would stand separate from your

Vision of us.

The morning sun leaves me white
as it’s too thin and
i'm coming down

Nothing soft can save me
not even a throw
woven by him

The curtains should be thicker
but they don’t obey
anything

I am unhappy
it’s obvious
that even strangers know
i'm a woman of sin

There is a stillness of the night,
and it yearns to me in places,
dots aligned from street to heart -
and that is where it starts.

A hushing breeze – finally –
the lapse of gathered calm.
Through dawn to dark, a beauty black
falls softly in my palm.

Shall you try to eat me?
you spit me out and smooth the frays,
that in the day but tingle limbs
and leave an itch, confused, afraid.
But the city sleeps and I brave a whim.

Not aflame, I am just one.
Survivor of a mundane talk,
that sends a spin which causes some
to laden me a dampened gawp,
Why don’t I just walk? Just walk away!
it is known for me to often stay.

Alas a chance to scuttle to
a central storm of silent peace,
transform motion of small to grand
that surrenders me on bruising knees,
to that time that some have always seen -
a glimmered chance to understand
the source of my serene.

Melted pass, in the dark I ******,
a dripping of a solely love,
retrieve my jaded fears that push
and sink to me like a toothy flesh
and rip a smile from ear to ear -
What can I do? When this blooded mesh
is the source that leaks my fine ideas!

Intruder thoughts, retreat to dome
closing slowly, leading home,
a sprightly sprig to dance in-front -
seducing me of what’s to come.
When I arrive, a-new, unknown,
until the door is closed and candle lit,
my-self I sought to laugh, un-wit,
a place lay set with vines and grove!

An open truth, of raw and felt,
a bleach-ed canvas who only sought
a place to ***** their mind to words
not crudely spoke or illy-thought.
Scarcely would it seem to spelt
in skies of which a heart could flutter,
and even through my solemn stutter,
it chimed that time was bought.

And so I have this much more -
through spot-light streets and shadowed doors,
the lastly glow through peeking blinds
that glow and leave me late to lay,
on patterned bed, to rest my mind,
I will weep and inspect my spore -
a speck of drying cosmic spray,
that seeks to soothe my bowing back
from the thought of choking, fleeting stay -
so when my hand moves to adore
the curvature of timeless waves,
it moves, it drives my endless core
and in the night I am but saved.

a beatless heart
that only moves with
strings attached.

In the car
you felt awkward with
bobbed veiled eyes,
squished in,
a neighbour insisted lift.
Their Language was
Course
Throaty
chiming with gold.

You had rationed bread then,
it was women’s only
and when one was
touched askew,
they took her away
from there.

That time of servitude,
5am Dettol, peeling skin,
when your man would
be home waiting to
kiss them Better.
You were glowing and
not alone.

You lent me a book,
frayed edges with
bi-carb knowledge &
I was surprised
that it worked,
as I didn’t know much.

A cache of
pyramid pictures,
Wet mirrored smiles
as they looked down upon us,
with the man reflected
gone
but
kindly enough.

Dragging your feet,
talk time for hours, when
your upward chin
would float above your
throbbing knees,
no grievances at all.

Decibels rose
like the formidable
stone wall
that was still protecting you,
and the laughter you brought
to me was…
thank you.

My practice called and so
I beckoned,
but you whispered
to me somewhere -
with a single
guidance,
to come back.

A sunny day,
a set of white teeth,
was all you could see,
morphine soaked back
against green
struck trees.

Naïve glass
between you and I,
a rose card
with plush material
on the front,
it was
the most expensive one.

Blame that left me
misaligned against a rail,
peeking through
the parts that felt,
coldly
wrong.

Licked and waiting,
useless,
I didn’t know how
to release your
generous sentient
from mine.

Graceful and soft without
life's judgement,
it has locked within me
and remains,
like a warm
forgiving light.