“Another night in London; I’m alone again.
He’s out there somewhere thinking of me
Or maybe someone else.
Come stand next to me,
Pour yourself some virtual tea.
I’m sitting in the garden waiting,
Waiting for you to convict yourself
Sitting here, loving him and hating you,
You who thought only of yourself.
I loathe you, but I must please you,
Must outwit you to save him
How does it feel, now you’ve enslaved him?

“I take you both back to our sitting room to sort
It out. Say it’s a domestic but we know that’s rot.
We sit across from each other, he’s silent;
I am not. I analyse your past, the lives you took
And you stare at me with a killer’s face,
Your hooded eyes and rubber mouth,
With its fake smile relishing death.

“You know I know the real you,
But he must too.
Can he forgive you?
He must do it or
One of us will once again
Be shot through by you!
Which of us will it be?

“But this is just a calculated pause,
In a long con; do you realize
How close you came to ending up in a box?
You aren’t the only killer in town.
You have angered others beside me;
If my brother could howl, he would have;
He just sneers and has you followed and
Every move you make is being trapped.
Your dowdy clothes fool don’t me now,
Since I remember your assassin’s gear,
So clearly, just before you shot me.
And I know you weren’t just being nice,
No pistol could be that precise.
But now the question comes:
I give you the choice I never had:
Do you want to live or die?
Your husband won’t want you dead but I…”

She stares him, black defiant eyes,
He marks the seconds with fibrillating heart
He has never known her, from the start,
Do killers possess some hidden cloak
Like his lover’s naked mask?
Her theory of self-portrait disguises
Leads him to a sudden change of plan
“Why didn’t you come to me for help?”
He had forgot how well he lies.
And he sees that she knows it in her eyes.
There is only one solution for both.

Perched high above the world,
Rests the poet bird.
A lost species,
Of the lonesome raven family.
Who stands among the branches,
Of the bald willow tree.

He weeps,
For lovers in London.
Split by chance,
Which took one to the heavens,
And left the other alone on the Earth.
But when his eyes dry,
Again he will fly.
With somber stories,
Tucked between his tear stained beak.

There was a thunderstorm
In London the night the coroner called.

I flew to California to make sense of it all.

You were afraid of the high dive just the year before.

Last night spread your wings,  stepped off the ledge to soar.

You played with rocks as a child and prayed to them as an adult.

The ring you wore for protection,  Sorry it didn’t work.

But you will be forever young the way you did predict

And I’ll be haunted by the imagery of how you left

I will spread the dust of you in the places where you found some peace.

The hardest will be our elephant shaped tree. Where we played in the creek.

You believed what the demons told you. But I know the truth.
You were loved and my heart is broken. I will grow old without you

Walking slowly down the street
Seeing reflection of the sky
Aiming to that cafe on the corner
For a while I didn't write you
Taking cup of coffee to my hands
Imagination goes to these days

Our path went far from each other
Maybe we can't live in our memories
Maybe is not time to say good bye
Maybe our reunion is on the reach
I hope for this inside my heart

These days in your big city
Where I almost lost myself
Making me emotional till now
Saying good bye was painful
When I almost lost myself

Never stopped thinking on you
Sometimes it took me on that streets
Full of unknown family and friends
Who could see my inner me

I am here alone but not forgotten
I feel certain happiness on the reach
To feel your streets and your city
Where people are not afraid of rain
Where everybody heading home
Where my mind strayed away

Bad things not happen again
When I almost lost myself
Evil address has changed to heaven
And you will see my new me
When our eyes meet each other

How do you like your tea?

I smiled.

Assam strong.
A dash of skinny milk.
And a view across the Thames.

Eyelids like Terracotta tiles, painted with Salted Wood,
In this Bohemian Magnificence—an appearance of Golden Chrome;
A Contradiction sits in Unconventionality, a Promise of Lovers
In Winter Graves and Spring Cemeteries.

Let the Late Summer Rains flourish the Commas like Grasseeds;
Reap, Sow, and Weep;
Reaped, Sowed, then Wept.

To Whom do you Owe these Trumpet Glares and Immaculate Phrasing?
(Where are the Trumpet Mutes and Wine Glasses?)
Life in the Divine is Life in Vienna—
Life à Douleur resembles Mourning in June.
Show me the Way to go Home—Public, Corporeal Adorations in the Backseat,
Turn left on Palmerston, past Sicilian Cigars and Creole Shrimp;
Towards the Striped Pillowcases and Vaulted Ceilings!
Adorned with our Reflections, of Dried Lavender and Baby’s Breath,
The open Windows let in the Damp Fragrance of Purple Elixirs.

Your Lips, Your Lips Beacon to Tell of my Oriented Past—
And when Midnight comes ‘round, Your Eyes Project my Adolescent Self.
Where did you Find Him?

(You Clutched my Rosary of Constellations in your Left Hand.)

He left me with a London Kiss
along the length of my body
deep enough to cost me
long enough to teach me to be careful
whenever I left myself exposed
and chose to be vulnerable
in this city of disputed space
and contested dreams.

He left me
poorer, but wiser.

Summer is loading full
             just one bit more
                     London is On!

Busy bus only 20 miles
           per hour
      tube  it
take the underground!

Meet down the various clouds
               though the sun oft
     picks on the gray paintbrush
the bumble bees fly on bright path
       daffodils are yellow
                   eyes are black and white.

The colour plate is full
                     down the cloud
                          go by underground!