I want a glass of bubbles
To warm my icy throat
And thaw my tongue,
Which always seems to be too frozen
To say anything right.
And I want to chase the fire down
With your kisses.
I want my heart to slow down,
Just a little,
Enough to keep in time with my
Lazy thoughts of you.

I want to hear your voice
Like a velvet dress,
Clinging to my body
In whispers of never letting go.
And I want to feel cold again
While you go out for a smoke.

And I just want to watch you
As you tug on those **** sticks,
Looking like a kind of mystery
I could ponder over for years.

I want to watch the smoke come off your lips,
I think I’m learning to like the smell
Of your smoky clothes.
And suddenly I’m as addicted to you,
As you are to them.
And I’m jealous
Because I want to be your addiction
And suddenly I’m like a cigarette
And that’s weird.

Weight…wait

Fantasies of cobblestone pairings, cracked and scattered
and wheat field decisions, looming large
now rest on my shoulders
like moss on a stone
~
Clinging tightly to each inch
of north facing skin
while never really noticing
that east is my direction of choice
~
So much it seems piles on,
***** laundry on the bathroom floor
disguised beneath damp towels
only to add more weight
~
And I lift, not knowing if I will fall,
crumbling beneath this load, drunk of the massive pain,
yet I find the ground is much softer, a bed of posies
since you wait for me, and help me to stand
~
Guiding hands comfort, shading the sun from weary,
tear stained eyes, brushing back vines, tangled and thorn’d
revealing that nothing is ever too much
when a friend is near

It is December in Wicklow:
Alders dripping, birches
Inheriting the last light,
The ash tree cold to look at.

A comet that was lost
Should be visible at sunset,
Those million tons of light
Like a glimmer of haws and rose-hips,

And I sometimes see a falling star.
If I could come on meteorite!
Instead I walk through damp leaves,
Husks, the spent flukes of autumn,

Imagining a hero
On some muddy compound,
His gift like a slingstone
Whirled for the desperate.

How did I end up like this?
I often think of my friends'
Beautiful prismatic counselling
And the anvil brains of some who hate me

As I sit weighing and weighing
My responsible tristia.
For what? For the ear? For the people?
For what is said behind-backs?

Rain comes down through the alders,
Its low conductive voices
Mutter about let-downs and erosions
And yet each drop recalls

The diamond absolutes.
I am neither internee nor informer;
An inner émigré, grown long-haired
And thoughtful; a wood-kerne

Escaped from the massacre,
Taking protective colouring
From bole and bark, feeling
Every wind that blows;

Who, blowing up these sparks
For their meagre heat, have missed
The once-in-a-lifetime portent,
The comet's pulsing rose.

i remember when you would beg me to read to you
in the early hours of the morning
when conversation had kept us awake
i could tell you were smiling by the sound of your exhales
although my eyes never moved from the words on the page before me.
we would make love
until you were too tired to finish a whispered 'goodnight'
i would follow you into dreams
my last and first thoughts always of happiness

this was a long time ago
before i left you, before you left me

that's the thing with love;
it changes
it begins like a fire
embers and smoke
until it's Winter
you're alone
and the smell of ash is making you remember
everything you wish you could forget

A thin piece of glass
separated me
from the destiny
I was born to cross
Its reflectance beckoned me
like a piece of gold dangling from a string
Hypnotized by the light
My soul stepped through
Breathing tiny shards of crystal
My lungs coated with divine vanity

I am but a cross