Verandas at supper time & plates without rain
cutlery placates the hands to the vein.
We watch our fingers as they feed upon air;
our bodies moulded into the normailty of chairs
nostalgic is the taste of ravenous affairs.
Our hands grow tired of non-essential shoots
As we remember that this ritual is just displacing air.
Now clawing the ceramic, reaching for instinctual roots
beyond our own edible malfunction of sought repute
growing trained eyes for gnathic refute.
Now beyond the slumber of western lands
knife and fork asunder; we eat with our hands
now beyond rituals of conservative man.

Anna encrusted dust suite luster
All of the bevel the ocean could muster.
Trust, the comfort found here at the shore
Sands to revel in all you adore.
Further, floors elude the light for placation
As roots are harboured, an act of vocation.
This tree gleans no place of rest
But chosen as berth, the hold for a nest.
An expression of palace and that of place
A digression to speed and not of haste.
But throats grow dry as if necks could curd
As we depart to our homes again like the bird.

To trust the rust wrought lemon husk
To edge the endeavour far beyond cussed
Weft warped kisses dress un-silken chest
Cleft clawed viscera separated not even
by breath.
Dust dredged surface beds descry all but
the separation of legs
our bodies dressed in skin and flesh
our eyes undress what was left
as feet fold right to our chest
Remembrance seeds your rosemary breath
An eternal path gained through worldly deft
As voids are filled like celestial nests

Each letter i scribe
comes straight from my mind
not knowing where to start:
is ill-spoken words from my heart
how can my heart & mind be so indifferent
all this time, could it be misspent?
i spend these days with your image
in my eyes
much more than ever present behemoth
skies
all i want to do is hold your hand
i don't know if i can walk all that
way it's getting hard to stand.
i'll get rid of this invisible hinder
and perhaps feel you between
my fingers.

with fingers laced then we'd descry
every celestial body in
that overlooked sky;
The thing i fear is when we've
counted every star and named
every moon, tasted every cloud,
this day might come too soon.