I'm struggling with guilt
After leaving lipstick on your collar
And hickeys on your shoulder

Shake dreams from your hair
My pretty child, my sweet one.
Choose the day and
choose the sign of your day
The day’s divinity
First thing you see.
A vast radiant beach
in a cool jeweled moon
Couples naked race down by it’s quiet side
And we laugh like soft, mad children
Smug in the woolly cotton brains of infancy
The music and voices are all around us.
Choose, they croon, the Ancient Ones
The time has come again
Choose now, they croon,
Beneath the moon
Beside an ancient lake
Enter again the sweet forest
Enter the hot dream
Come with us
Everything is broken up and dances.

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body.  i like what it does,
i like its hows.  i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones,and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the,shocking fuzz
of your electric furr,and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh….And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new

I am one of the swans that I watch on the ice
and
being a swan is quite nice but
it's a bit of a ******* keeping my feathers fluffy and clean
and already the Winter,
I mean being a swan is quite nice
but it's a bit of a ******* when you slip on the ice and
you can't sit on your *** because your *** gets so numb.
Them ****** ugly ducklings don't make it any easier either.

I am only
ever free
when
she
hides my scars
from
me.

If only the Christmas lights on Oxford street
could fill a table with food to eat.

In the hungry days of shop doorways where
some sit silently
shiver violently
the lines of lights light up their nights
as if they need reminding that the
'morrow brings them nothing new.

Nothing to do but wait
as another bus draws up and
more get off to sate their appetites
among the bright lights of
Oxford Street.

Winter nights.

The soup run does not come
never will
the traders,council and the coppers
think it gives bad vibes to shoppers,
still it would be nice to think
that homeless people get a drink of
something hot.

Down Trafalgar Square there's somewhere where
they can spend some time
have a meal ,a shower and a crypt
seems fine if a little odd
for the poor sod
who's only got what he's given.
A new shirt and trews
he's not from Scotland
but beggars do not choose
they accept and
sometimes painfully,
the helping hands from a charity.

It's such a sad affair that some don't care,
don't give a look and yet think nothing
of sharing pointless posts on
the pages of Facebook.

Another bus drops off a few even as some drop off the
grid
and we bid goodnight to the rights and wrongs
the Christmas songs
the happy throngs
and hide
inside
another
doorway.

Im sitting on the edge of a life I used to lead,
all I want is her hand to lead me free.
I am not sure, I do not know
But I believe in love so its time to go
Into the dark and I must say its an aweful lot like the month of may
When the hands keep reaching
And the fingers keep grabbing
All I did was let them keep stabbing
I am not strong, mind is weak
And my body soft
Iv naught to speak
But of my love,  im lion atg heart
Her hands in mine, iv learned the art
Of life and love who can say
What will be at the end of days?
But of my soul, and by my breath
I will love her until my death

“When was the last time you cried”, you asked.
How many tears did you lose? How fast did they race down your face?
Were there tears at all, or did you hold them back like you were trying to break up a fight

What is the point of tears?
To water down you’re feelings on the inside?
To drown your unpleasant, unattractive, unfulfilling frown?
The one that sits at the bottom of your face.

Have you ever cried yourself to sleep?
Buried your face in your pillow, listening to your muffled voice sink into the feathers.

But somehow it helps.
This wet, loud, chaotic, unstable mess of a moment helps?
I don’t know why… but it does.