when the timestamp on your watch is
3:33
and for a split second
god shines down
from splintered heavens
and the breath that is silent
expands in my lungs
like a million sighs
like an enlarging balloon
racing to the explosion
I see the rapture in my digitalised smile
the bleeping raises to the crescendo
I feel the robot veins
I feel the steady hands
holding wrists
like ropes writ ready

god smiles like an enlarging balloon
hot and heavy
with bountiful love

but the timestamp flickers
from its devilish perfection
3:33
off the edge
cleaved down in a cliff face
I race on the blade of it
the seconds of sanctimonious breathing
coming to a stop

3:34

what begins as a game
always ends as war
as I forgo my speech
twist tongues to silence
such an act lives in danger
what begins as rebellion
always ends as a netted trap
my arms are the panicked fish
bodies flayed as they drown in oxygen
I breathe in my idiocy
not to speak
it is to surrender blissfully

Stop personifying our oceans;
pollution set adraft like lopsided grins
the eye of the storm within the palm of a breaking seascape escape
the white horses, live and vivacious upon stormy greys

Stop humanizing the catastrophe;
thou should not subject
poor innocent ocean beasts
to the pain of humanity - have you no compassion for searing tides?

passion upon a roaring sea;
sailors know the waves settle some
            but the storm must first pass;
            a predicted impossible.

salad swirls
I peer into your depths
lettuce leaves
splayed seductive
unpeeled forest green liver skins
green thumbs
red palmed
'tis only a Sunday brunch

we are all only lonely girls on park benches
legs entwined, swinging unbridled, as we peek through long shuttered lashes

the man swallowed in fading greys
he is prostate on that bench
peeking through bars of oak and endless views
he dares not seep from reality
gripped by wood

old aunt crazy cat
she was once such a man
engulfed in pipe dreams
and she doth peek back
through stems of newly birthed bench bamboo
waiting for lovers to enter their woods.

the pain blooms like a newly wed
- a subtle rose which ripples in my cupped palms
I breathe in the red
lungs expanding
with summer sibilance
as if your rose tongue still curled in mine
- our mouths holding hands