I grit my teeth at the thought of it
As if to sheer
The skin from them…
To brooch the
Kingdom between your
Whitening thighs
A
Bell pepper blemish
Roar and tumble
The apricot lull of tongue on tongue
You salt my ***
As I find my fingers
Finding the depths of you
We slip further into
Despicable blue.
Beautiful
Filthy
Blue.

If talk is cheap
then Poems are pennies
Long lost
Traveling in pockets
Or Saved for rainy days

she turned
as the page of a book
I etched my name in her
and
slow came
the burn of a quiet flame
and
slow came
the inferno in her name
that was ushered
into life
by the tempest
of our embattled hearts.

Her fingertips loosed the glass
bottle, which had
of late
gathered rain like the
hands of paupers.

Glitter in a heartbeat.
to be collected by old battered shoes
or car tyres
and streetwise magpies.

it joins a city evensong
this oceanic roar of nothing
fusing chords of cars and smoke
and lonely dogs
with hacks
and throngs
of perambulating suits
and suitors
trampling athwart broads of concrete
As swifts in summer.


We swim in it
through open atriums
and barren rooms of
magnolia and magnolia and magnolia.

All the while if you look harder
you see through chinks a sepulchre
in each greying tower
ranging higher and higher still.

Machines and machinations
stacking life upon life to
build pyramids
to gaudy kings
in pinstripe or herringbone.

Flumes of fumes ***** like floods
Into and out of train stops
and bus stands.
Circling lungs like hungry crows.
Crows which haunt
Bombed out chapels made new
resuscitated with waxen ivy
and ivory lilies.

And the leaves of saintly oak trees
chatter in shrinking crevices of green
story telling
Of how people and things grow old.
And you can walk these streets
And dive too like cormorants into
The platitudes of city living.

Soaked to the skin in sound
to tell your story
like the shards
of a broken bottle.

It’s an
odd comfort
that it is
always raining somewhere
Old watering cans
collecting water
Tawny pines
lofty, sighing in the mist.

When my bones
are laid out
like a picket fence
in a wooden coat
they will drink
with the roots
and stone
and earth.

And when I am but
dust or atoms it will still rain
maybe I will be bricks
in a building
or some tarmac slab
something functional
or a peony flower
or even forget-me-nots
it will still rain
and I will be gone.

Crude
We pushed
each other
against saintly walls
lips sinking under
leaving bite marks
like cherry blossoms
on magnolia skin.

Hands through hair
Heavy air
Heavier breathing
Ribcage to ribcage
grazing flesh
on limestone
obscured by altars
behind cloister doors
Our bodies are cathedrals
built of blood.

We fall further
into one another
On hallowed stone.
hate the sin…?
Love the sin
Love the sinner
Be the sinner
Be the sin.

We planted tulips in each other,
in the night.
While the rain played in street light
We intertwined,
As old roots or Ivy.

We left marks in each other;
Like pressed limestone,
Like Rock built into churches,
Like wave weathered slate.

I move the hair from your
Noctilucent eyes.
And we arch together
Like ash or poplar.
Your lips are warm;
A sirocco in the chine of winter.

Love,
It is this.
No greater no lesser
And though the deeps of oceans
May stand between;
The between of us is neither wide, nor far
I carry you with me
For my home is built of
What we are.