Your lips.
Your eyes.
Your body.
Your sighs.
Your breath.
My mouth.
My neck.
My thighs.
My head.
My heart.

You’re gone.

it is a gift, the friend ship, the kiss

on each cheek with out avoidance.

it may seem continental, yet we are

dolgellau. it is a meeting place, yes,

near the church. there are similarities,

yet this is not a metaphor.

we met at ten, talked of family,

one hour led to two, and overstepped

the parking time.

later in the garden, i thought of you.

i cut the paths and thought of you too.

it is a gift.

sbm.

I caught her eye from across the dim lit room,
as she sang on the small stage.
Her voice was like a Whistling Thrush
and it stole my breath.
She smiled at me
and never before had I seen such beauty.
She made me weak in the places I once felt strong.
Her voice,
her bright eyes,
and her coquettish smile,
they made me feel vulnerable,
but I did not care.
I was captured by her inexorable splendour,
and she imbued my love, fiercely.
I knew I had to speak to her,
to tell her how wonderful she was,
and how incredible she made me feel.
As she finished her song,
and skipped down from the stage,
I watched, painfully as she fell into the arms of another man.
He did not look at her the way I did,
nor would he ever.
Though sometimes, our greatest love,
will never know who we are.