You write of the Faroe Islands
of whaling & girls with red hair
I wonder if you've ever been there
or if it's just a writer's fantasy

Can a poet write
of what he's not seen
with his very eyes
or does he always have to live it

feel the blessed fire
of experience
burn his soul & skin
still, I give in

to your vision
of a place I've never been
in return, I offer you my Berlin
pristine lakes & secret courtyards

a City that's fought to be free
showing it's pride in art & grafitti
& international flair
yet you scorn it


just as you do me
turning my heart
into droplets
of Alice's tears

that moment
when she can't get in
through the tiny door
to the garden in Wonderland

why doesn't my world
entrance you, Islander
don't you know we share
the same sacred loves

look closer,
draw near
we are similar
we are poets

we know
God is a Beatnik
& we read
the same books

My Soul
sings of you
open this door
let me love you

let us
fold the stars
in two
& dance

tell me of Yorkshire
don't judge me for my past
let our differences bring us
together sparking desire


& let my love last
until you finally see in me
what I've already
found in you