i cannot remember
how to forget,
my delicate.

the crowd went silent after they asked her
“how much do you love him?”
they were not aware of the question
might as well took it as a joke, but
those words were enough to mute her
as she began to stutter–
her eyeballs shaken
water started to fill up the surface of her white
a smile crept into her lips after the answer left them
“I wished him happiness more than I’ve done to myself”

they would never understand.

I painted you.
With trembling, amateur precision,
I suffered each line on your face.

Each fleck of sun,
Your candid smile,
Your immediate beauty in the foreground
Of an exceptional ocean.

Stumbling blindly through the days,
Fumbling for the switch
In a punch-drunk, love-sick afternoon.

Apart from you,
Stripped, exposed,
Laid prone on the gurney
With my skull in a vice
And a fist to my stomach.

I can barely stand because of you.

I painted you this afternoon
So I could toil in your gaze.
Pray I am an interesting splatter,
A noticeable blight;
A happy accident on your page.

I love the feel of my hair
Long and soft
Clean and curling gently.

I recognise my pride.
But find it easy to dismiss.

I feel beautiful when my my hair is newly washed.
Alive, sensuous and wanton.

Drowning myself in its depths.
Imagining him running his fingers through it.
The scent intoxicating us both.

Wanton desire rises......
But there is no 'him'
Just a figment if my imagination.

Will I ever be brave enough?
I hope so.

she was not fragile like a snowflake.
she was fragile like a bomb.
and i didn't know which was scarier-
                                                        ­  her explosion or her calm.