i ache to be beside you,
cat-like i stretch out,
i curve into your corners,
unravel your avenues like wool,

tender and surreal i carve
my name on your lips,

in the last of summer’s
indigos and fire, slumbering
in the now damp grass,
i feel your love, the shadows
and the softening golds, the
honeyed fever of your touch,

ripples of blue water,

tides of an impossible
sun,

you light me like a lamp
an electric blue-ink canvas,
tireless like the engines
of the wind that bid us melt.

She left me with nothing but math.

Bedroom walls miscalculated
to the color of a bruised plum.

Moonwhite sheets tangled
into isolated geometries.

Her pillow, the sum
of broken equations.

Moonlight proves
distance by degrees:

light slanting
in the hallway,

the acute angles
of an open door.

she
was my
first love ever
a base rock steady
in a wild sea of salty foam
receding to reveal the shells she collected
her bareness glowing in the first quarter of a neap tide moon

"where night is....love in the shadows or the freedom of the wind"

night, dark shadows swept
under the trees that scatter
whispering that they are
soaked in the ice-breath
of the sky,

the night has fled,
her dreams the fleeing
wind, questioning the
skies where the clouds
fade to nothing, kings
of the crumbling hills,

if i tell you i love you
you'll always love me
back because it is in my
seams, seamstress that
i am of island flowers
and strange ghosts,
flower of ink where
the darkness flows away
and the stars trace their

silver maps. i hold all my
love in a quiver and like
a god i'll slay you with
just one arrow if you
ever leave me like a dust,

link my arm as we walk
so boldly through the
dark shadows of the
night, where the wind
flees and the moon
steers her way through
our passions and trials,

we cry out to the wilderness
that breathes us,
and while i cry i kiss
your neck, your eyes
your lips.

It's blistering hot
Here in England
No time to
Acclimatise

The  daises  within  the  grass  are  sleeping.
While  slight  fr­osts  up  above  are  seeping .

They  are  waiting  for  the  new  born  sun.
Then  they  will­  arise  and  have  some  fun.

They  shine  and sparkle  all  day  long.
Till  the  departing  sun  has  gone.

A­s  the  day  has  run  its  course.
They  settle  down  without  ­remorse.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2017.

Come to me.
             your inscribed
                slashes of verse
                branded upon
             the juice of
           my tongue
     a specter
    of the ultimate gift
      as we allow
         the magic
              to rise
               and peel off in
         swathed, aching
         layers,
                undone
Each stratum of
  dermis shed
       is a prayer for
         our succulent
                     redemption
                        Each shadow of
                          silky cuttlefish caress
                   a plea for sanctity
            or perhaps simply
            being loved
        into a frenzy
        of sanity
            healing in waves
                    of electric eyes
                          You open me
                    like a holy book
              and I am suddenly
                  filled with light
           as you unlock
the blessings
from my spinal fluid
and I am a priestess
  on her altar
       arms raised,
         love braised
              into slick-lit wonder
               a spiral cone rising from
                            ground to crown
                 chakric palette pulsating
            phosphorescent ripples
on deep-sea creatures
Your ubiety
       slakes my naked,
            somatic anatomy
                   a mere shelter
                          for our souls    
                       a working
       of muscle and skin
    with heart strings pumping
                    the essence within
                     Our brainwaves
                                    sizzle in
                         glandular fire
                        as pheromones
                       envelope us
                   like incense
This goes far beyond the
wet cuntflush of desire
beyond the embellishment
of moistened sword
  It is the sacred dance
         of souls that merge
            before even touching
                      pre-verbal animal
                   first light of mankind
                          in ancient swells
                                 of earth that
                           rise like sparks
                the constellations
           of firework chimes
       in arcs of
chiseled
         dark

Share your darkness and light with me..
Find me outside of you..
Through the light and back again..
Truth is where you find it..
Dream about us..
Remember our moments alone..
Far away and so very near..
A picture plus a song will equal perfection..
Before dawn take a walk outside..
Let the sun remember you are waiting for it..
I miss you so much..
I last saw you at the pillar of angels..
And I know you are waiting for us..
So remember our moments alone..
Our links and waves. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

where the river runs
is a ghost
blue as the sky

i want the beauty
of my mind
to run through
my pen

i want the sky
to cast its shadows
of the shadowy clouds
to where
darkness flows
and the moon,
the arching moon,
grows cold,

love could not be
more beautiful
when i am,
flower of the wind
sea of dark sky
ghost of a river
that runs.