we have our favourites

mine is old
have had it thirty years

from the charity

he touched it gently
said it felt warm to touch

&

it certainly is
felted a little with wear

misshapen

ill fitting
comforting

charcoal grey
it don’t show the dirt

i wore it gardening yesterday
raking leaves

the robin came down

we spell snow plough differently

you sit
and look towards the sky
for nothing.

the rain can wash your cheeks
but your soul stays the same.
impure.
tainted.

and all you can do is continue
like this;
with a clean pinkish face
dragging your soul by the hair.
and you smile because you don't know.
hey you!
naive!
the rain doesn't heal!

effortlessly wearing a cigarrette on her lips
head tilted high with one hand on her hips
a dizzyingly incandescent, nicotine laugh
i think i'd die for her
write that on my epitaph

The dim wind whispered in my ear why are you here
For wind I do not know as I could ask you an unexplainable question like why do you blow.
For I do not know

You have a pretty kind of ugly face
With a silly kind of goofy grace
That I don't mind to see everyday
In a desperate kind of needy way

Suspended

In this moment

Floating

The world slows around me

Like being trapped

In just a breath


My eyes close

Dawn breaks in my mind

The world is so new

You are familiar to me


My heart tugs gently

This soft love

Light oranges

Soft pinks

Delicate streaks of purple


This is so pure

I want to exist in this moment

For the rest of my times

To love you

Like I am suspended

Forever