(spoiler alert: explicit, or whatever...)*


my hands,
cup shaped.
your warmness.
the pace of your
fleeing heart.
your *******,
naked, nibbled,
in my cupped
hands.

For Helene.


Ashes on the water, now.
Love's bones like dust downstream.  
At least it got to see itself in our eyes,
Feel itself between hand holding hand

And whispered caresses.
From pillow talk to fists raised at
Concerts, glasses of Portuguese wine
On her balcony to the sound of magpies

We named our neighbours.
We were beautiful.
Began beautifully.
Ended gracefully.

I open hands that held hers and see
Nothing but skin worn by labour,
And air.
Ashes on the water, now.

Embers without a chance against rivers  
Cold with melted mountain snow and
Unyielding differences.
Some loves drown with lungs too full

To cry; others float like a funeral-pyre-
Longboat into the night, ablaze.
King and queen, hand upon hand.
Crowns tied from fresh flowers,

We were beautiful.
Began beautifully.
Slid apart the way a glacier parts from
The hills; slowly, but with the force

Of its thousands of tons.
Ashes on the water,
Where the ghost of our union rests
Underneath the surface of our memories.

I will remember you.
Until the stars burn out, raining the
Dust of themselves like snow upon
These waters that always are moving.

Leaving behind all the memories for the moonlight,
there is no more time for a dance under the stars.
It's hard enough to see, even when you're near me.
So I won't move, what else can I lose?

Just standing in the night, waiting for the daylight
when you will shine, and show me where your eyes are.
But do not look for me, for I have been sent to leave
and without you, it seems
that nothing else can be.

The way that you miss me cries into the skies
over the tide and out to sea
where no one sees
where you've left me.

All of you.
Where do you get off
making a name for yourself
out of the mockery
in fallen heroes’ hearts?
What’s in a name;
that which we call
"a genius"
by another label
would be found on the front page
of the obituaries.

And now,
what?
Where do you go from
the top,
looking down on those you
trampled on the way
with some false sense of humility?
How we perceive you now
is like that of a crime lord;
envious,
never aspirational.

Might as well
call it a day
and take note of the
fallacy
that is fame and fortune.

I see
You were only waiting to hate me
Until you found someone else to love
Like I said
You'll hate that someone else before too long
You look for me
But I'll be gone

I detach.
Pain tolerance is a fascinating thing don't you think? I certainly hope mine is raised slightly by virtue of suffering, practice making perfect and all

II examine
Pain from the most common of illnesses, common for me anyway as I get it once a year(strep)
Feels absolutely mind blowing,
It takes my breath away, so I belittle the sensations.
pick it apart, each twinge and searing itch.
Why is it in my ears?

III conclusion
I am a big grump when I'm sick.
But laying in bed does give one time to meditate. And wonder, the things I strive for, that I love and lust for: how much will they hurt?