Tear down my skin and I am a piece of white flesh
Cut me and you will find darkness
Reek of pink champagne and blood
And a smell of desire and greed
Slice me on my lips and you will find
Coldness. Steel fingers and plated heart
And still i bleed
Down the sides of my mouth and from all ways i bleed
***** breaths and i melt into
A muddy concoction of emptiness.
Burn me into nothing but flesh and blood and i shall rise like  dust i rise
Like the smoke i rise
And like your heartbeat i stay alive.

you who sit huddled away from me
retreating into a home not home
a warmth not desired by any chamber in your heart and freezing mine you who were born some three hundred days before me yelling with your infant breath the fate of me of you of us you who stare intently passing torrents of electrifying passion through the fluid remains of my soul and
you who possess a playful tenderness an animalistic wildness a maturity not yet attached onto the cold of your skull what is
the shade of your lips and the shape of your teeth and the indentations of your heart?
I long to know the intricacies the curvature of your inch by inch holding up in my two hands as if handling a museum and tell you softly whispering on the lobe of the ear my dreams my hopes my insatiable desire to be yours

You were freer than a free verse
And even sonnets could not keep you.

Tonight we got drunk on papayas,
Sitting on the sidewalk sipping
drinks, careless laughter
exploding from our mouths when
the moon split itself
Down our throats. In the messy
medley of the night I felt you on

my skin, remember:

How I lost myself in the fine lines
Of your lips where you claim
Your flaws fall into.

How I tried to swallow them like
apricots and how - in almost exact reciprocation
Of the same passion -
your eyelid moves which say:
I love you as much as I love God.

You are four light years away
And tonight I got drunk on papayas.

This is not a poem because
Sonnets could not keep you safe
And free verses compete but lose
Their flame, for

Like a landslide you let love slide,
I let love leave then.

My feet shift oceans
When I wade.
My fingers poked craters
In the moon when I tripped
Over the Shatsky Rise
Under a stroll to Oceania from

Eurasia. I eat from
Tectonic plates;  
Glaciers are my
Popsicles.

I shake fallen stars from my
Shoulders and walk on,
Earthquake by earthquake.
Interstellar breezes soothe the

Blisters from when I
Burned my head on the sun.
My arms can reach Mars, look:
Red bits of Olympus Mons and

Nereidum under my
Fingernails.

I leap lightyears.
I cry tsunamies over the fact that

You can't see me.

We'll meet again
Behind the sunset
The light of dawn
The hues of blue and pink
We'll meet again

We'll meet again
Behind a bookshelf
Behind a swinging door
Behind your eyelid moves
I see you and
We'll meet again

And when we meet again
Tell me how you feel
When we meet again

Follow me through skies of Grey
through murky marshland mire.
Accompany me through forest
labyrinths and fields of pale rye.

Step carefully through old mine
fields and feel my chest fall silent
for momentarily my heart skips,
caught by the long grass stalagmites.

The imagination coils up horrifying
imagery, a moment in time where
warriors flee, outmanned and gunned
down, the indigenous falls to his knees.

Look up and seize my thoughts
from falling into the past, for life
is like a bike ride, and in order
keep a grasp, head forward

following an orbit and do not
lose sight of the tunnels end
for satellites which go off track
crash, break, smash and bend.

Sat in the grass staring up, you
giggle and pull my legs, I trip
on accord and hear the twang
of an IED before crumpling

like folded paper, onto a jagged
boulder, feeling a pain in my head.
I roll onto my back and face up to
the battlefield where hungry farmers

fend off intruders who gun them
down again, blink and they’re shackled
as the decorated men of war crack
out cigars, sip from crystal and cackle.

Scrunch these lids and rub my eyes
the image raids from red to yellow
crimson streams appear to mellow
as your face above me, draws calm

overhead, forget the cries of war-torn
towns and villagers who bled
to keep their crop in the forlorn
era which saw many a soldier dead.

A soul escapes and floats past
your face we pause and marvel
as it pirouettes smoothly, spiralling
slowly into the fog and falling back

down in the adjacent swamp. Trudge
and trace footsteps west of the border
As the scenery picks up, you nudge

my ribs and point down the valley,
towards the green and golden leaves
of Burma where our journey ends.