When you are gone
I will miss you
I will miss your difficulties and the issues that surround you
Your troubled past,
will be a vacant gap,
no longer something to troubleshoot

I will miss counting wine bottles
in your car, behind doors, in corners,
under chairs,
All of this, I will miss

I will miss the size of you
Your small blond head, almost,
but never fully
leaning on my chest, I will miss,
your tentativeness

I will miss your slurred words and glazed eyes and the sight of you seeking respite, in liquids,
gold and white
Your hands shaking, and my heart breaking
Yes, all of this, all I had of you
I will miss

The clouds threw down
three veils of rain, married the sea
made witnesses out of you and me
and later I, in the silent room
said nothing,
and sat and stared
at the bowl at the top of the dresser
thinking of her hands,  in flour, 
the regular comfort of her bread.

6 o clock dandelion
fluffy wish wand fairy dusters
filled the fields where
wild flowers fizzled
over a rough green sky.

Twas there they convened
framed by a doorway
a triangular composition
with gods light shining
on their grey and balding heads.
an oratio ad contemplatio
of an evening.

grant me the awareness so that i don't call my ex '*******'
after parting painfully on a street
that i don't waste my energy conniving ways
to hurt him even more,
amongst which include
rotten texts
returning gifts,
imagining his feelings finding them
on his front steps
in a bag,
that i pull the plug, fuel and batteries
on fantasies that include obliterating him from my
life forever in one
big, jabby
sweep.

love letters on facebook are just not the same
many years later you'll search not in vain
for pieces of paper all crumpled and spent
to remind you of lovers that all came and went
now its all passwords and clicking on keys
how can there be any mystery while we scroll through our LED histories?
what's happened to pondering, to stories absorbed
where is the space in this illuminated world?
space to leave letters under dark beds
or maybe deep recesses in the back of our heads
space to understand a beginning and an end
space to let go of a magic weekend
space to know what's gone is gone,
when to shove that box away,when its time to move on...

you were a jungle bird
in high heels,colourful clothes
the rest were black crows
jaundiced beaks,
mean souls.