Shapes shifting through the sheets
of paper, in my dreams
soft pillow seams, we move like a gentle
firey breeze -
your shape consumes me.

I have never seen volcanoes, yet my
thoughts erupt in shapes.
What is it to desire a shape ?

A venetian spell of curved brushes to cheeks,
dreaming of the days and weeks I could
lay, still, yet volcanic, staring opposite your face, in embrace and tracing your skin with my finger.

Like a brush stroke,
my muse

what is it to loose the memory of a body?

Every trace and touch
each mahogany blush
within the rush of lust,
a cosmic trust between body to body
and mind, to the Hearts’ justice.

A sketch,
first love.
I cloak and glove the painting of you
moving through new shapes away from
view, yet sometimes with solemn and blue, sly Fate washes water-coloured visions and crimson hues through my mind and i’m reminded of each line, curve and shape.

Oh desire ! What a profound honour
to know a body beyond shape.

they are in the grass
beneath my feet
their fear distilled
into the trees
where the leaves
dance as their banners
and flags once did
in the cool breeze
a river of red where
they bled their last breath
now flows clear
no winners or losers here
the lush green foliage
tells the story of how
it is fertilised
by the bodies of men
who lost their lives
centuries ago
I can still feel them
in the landscape
they have grown

Some bodies are made of worms,
soft, malleable, wet to the touch
with tears and a thin layer of grime,
built up over years of creaky limbs
oiled with their own disuse.

Some bodies are made of wasps,
and they are violent. The buzz
rings in the ears and they are the type
to throw drunken punches. Every
second is all that is.

Some bodies are made of earth,
in that they sustain others
and drain themselves. Global
warming will **** them off, but
for now, they shine.

Some bodies are made of other bodies,
like Frankenstein, like corpses
that aren’t quite done yet
with the worms and the wasps
and the ground that they clawed out of.

You looked at me, absent-minded. Comparing with eyes made for judgment. It's your right.

It's too bad you don't see the hurt, the words carved into me. The ones that go "she's skinnier" or "she's prettier, you know". I try and consult, whispering "mirror mirror on the wall" but it just won't look at me.

You did it without thinking. Took the liberty to stare me up and down, and when I asked you why you were surprised. You weren't doing it on purpose. I was just a visual obstacle you could look over and judge.

Maybe you lacked malice, but I still saw the wish for better in your eyes. You didn't need to put it into words. I heard it all. Felt the need for better, as I covered up, so you no longer had to be disappointed.

You checked them out and looked at me after as if surprised you'd accepted this version of a body for so long.

Inside our bodies we are Kings and queens
On lofty thrones
Steering life into submission like faithful subjects
Inside our bodies we are the world
Our words are currency
And our actions glory that comes with it
We fly, we drive, we swim—exploring eternity
We crawl, we walk, we flow—becoming forever.
Inside our bodies we are more than clay!