fire, ashes mixed with blood that swirls around your body
plaguing organs that moan and echo
burst through the church roof of your moth
whining like a cello
wander aimlessly around the hotel lobby
the quickness of the flame from a gas cooker
with the sound like a quick puff into a balloon
and with all the playfulness of the girl that took her
flames engulf and lick at the bottom of the saucepan
the irony of rows of white lily's in a graveyard
dew drops from the moistness of the air dance on the petals
still fresh, not quite wilting yet
whilst the stones morn
the wetness of your lips glow orange while the sun sets
waves biting at the groynes that stand to attention
also silently crying, leaning to one side
facing the sky as if pleading for mercy
reflection
a white feather on the ground reminds you someone's there
the hair on the back of your neck stands tall
while fingers quake
at the thought of being alone