Like vultures,
Bald and pink -
Even ugly feet
Look handsome in the air.

Hollow pink,
Beer embossed,

Eyes  -
Icing roses,

And the sound,
That sound…

Dionysian.

He had a tearjerking smile
A temper,
A medal,
An offering of soap
And a knack for loyalty.
In letters
He called me
Old Sport.

And she
Was a film star
Who could paint.

The poster girl of well-thumbed submission,
The American Nurses Association,
A narrow mouthed river in Oregon,
Charles Howard Hinton’s fourth dimension,
A track from Pixies Bossanova,
Antibodies,
Anorexia Nervosa.

Fire,
Turns witches into meat
And spends nights with marshmallows.

Earth,
Riddled with growth.

Air and Water win.
Stick prizes on these shiftless things,
The see-through drowners that score absolute zero.

It Girl,
Pierced **** girl,
****** as a jaywalking crow
With bluebottles for eyes.
I can see your billion goosebumps,
Your skin dragging at
Your perfume.
You’re not beautiful,
But girl -
You
Are
It.

I’ve tickled it into his naked back,
When he’s ******* me it spools around my tongue,
I devote myself with every playful smack –
And harder still when certain smacks have stung.

I never thought I’d fall for such a man,
Who smuggles love like drugs inside a coat,
I love loudly just because I can,
The words collect like songbirds in my throat -

Or three boats arranged into a fleet,
To sit behind a hesitating sky,
Sulking with the shyess of retreat,
Billowing with every loaded sigh.