There is no black and white. There is only grey.
There are no good and bad people, only grey.
There is outstanding and extraordinary,
and they are grey too.

There is her and there is him.
Nobody, no bodies. Bodies grooved, bodies removed.
Nobody but you, and you.
And us and them. And me and him.
Everyone else is mute. Everyone else is grey.
The rest of the world is grey.

The corridors of your mind are mottled with
beauty and truth, and distance and death.

But in the end, there is only grey.

Where from here?
All chaos and silence
Training new souls for
Laughter and violence.
Keeping us young,
Telling us we're old
Where did the time go?
Not a place or date
An unturned space,
A forgotten pocket
Tucked away
In a lost suitcase.
Nowhere that we know.

The only ones who know
what we did, are us.
We were teenagers again.
Living life through an
optimistic lens.
An unbearable thrill.
Hiding behind the rhyme
and words that had more
than meaning.
Taking our time but running
into the sea, slow but quickly,
the foam thrown onto
our bare legs,
the water soaking our clothes.
No one knows, they didn't see
us in the sea.
Drowning but free.

The anticipation of being wanted
Waiting for nutrients of the mind
And soul and savour our saved time

We build our lives on sandstone not granite
Not a meteor that hit but a shift of the tectonic plates
Slow but strong
Ever present but doubtful of their force
Easily denied but powerfully felt

The language of us
The one you met
Different to the one you found,
Stumbled into a parched
Waterfall.

If you want to feel alive
Again, or check you exist
Then lay in the bath
With your ears underwater
Not silent, but still.

Hear your own heartbeat,
Listen. Absorbed and soak;
A lifeform floating.
Like when you were
Consumed in the womb
And others thought about
Your heartbeat.
But not you, you were
Too busy trying to live.

Now you are trying to
Survive, but also thrive
And running water, like
Your veins, now afloat
Amongst the disorder.

Skin
And stones,
Allow me to
Illustrate your bones
With ink leftover from
Clean cut days, sketched
With a frosty daze.

Staccato memories we
Captured on thought reels
Our daring minds, tested
As the sun-shadows climb,
Over exposed, but real.

Sleeve stroked, shoulder
Glance. Craft the excuses
Savour the fresh flavour
And take a chance. Place
The spheres to my ears,
Melody to my being.

Taste the tickled autumn
Crinkled by jeopardy,
Trace a moonlit sternum
Wilted and wanted. A
Bitten lip, suggesting
An ungrazed hip.

An ache a day, keeps
The dreaming awry with
Flustered breath, blustery
And wet. Awake but not
Alive, can it survive?

Keep your flame kindled
In my hot chocolate cup
Douse it with whiskey,
Pray it doesn’t erupt.
We’re getting older
But no wiser,
Surprise
Her.

The doves are flying now, they make their winds
In every direction: hover and sail to their foreign flock.
Forget me not, plucked up the courtesy to show
You round these new haunts. Plain as a daffodil,
As probable as daylight. But the mist is lifted -
Stay with me now. Don’t let me go, but don’t
Hang around. Too soon but forgotten not. Forget
The others, they sailed the sea but found the sand.
It grazed my skin and opened my eyes. Nothing
Is clear now. Waxen wings do set their form like
Feathered tales. Forget me not for I am here;
Always will have been. Should be? Be not afraid
Of distance, for some have it grown upon them.
Sewn inside like seeds, the day they sprout will be
Goodbyes, for now. We hope, but forgotten not.