I wanted the sun to cleanse me
and when the rain came
i drifted to another place with you.
See, it calms me and doesn’t ignite me,
it doesn’t blacken me more
in the process of healing and hope
like it does when i’m completely
discoloured without you.

She took a dive
on a particularly lonely night.
It’s when women play.
Pristine girls who pick brains
dream of ******* in the rain,
wives in the same predicament,
sixty years with a man
go ferociously with the familiar.
The man was now like cadaver,
traces of him in her footsteps
though she had a woman’s tongue
on hers now and liked it.
Perhaps nights would never be
so lonely again.

She was a skeleton inside a snakeskin canvas;
the smoothest of hands to hold it’s madness.

She punctured the cliffs edge
but she wouldn’t meet the venom;
too dull, too grey,
pull at the tendons and never see heaven.

Did the momentum fade with the rain, was the rain golden?
Was it frigid, did everything stand still or was it fallen?

The more I reap the details in which mystery was apposed
the more I sew the waves with my narrative and dizzy words.

I picture a youth in my arms; squirmed in me and yanked out.
I’m too much of a charcoal cloud,
raw, cold yet loud.

Maybe it’s me above the harbour,
I’m curdling on the brink
like pale suns in vintage skies;
there’s nothing else to live for.

She bathes below the faucet of the sea and takes in discolouration.
When the windscreen wipers stop, breathing stops in full acceleration.

The clarity of the sky is all for you;
bluebell contrails open up their arms.
You should've found that true happiness
and you still capture mine.
But it wasn't a breeze.
It was intangible cyclones like hazel thorns
ripping the edges of your world
and all I can say is that I'm sorry.
That wasn't meant to happen.
All the things worth treasuring don't
come close to you,
all I wish is that you're smiling now.
For secret gardens only you can see
and you to breathe easy while you sleep.