The story of a tiny gift, half chewed and fear-stained
Left on the alter outside the back door:

When first stunned with a slap or a precisely timed
Bite, a vigil is held -- wings twitch and flutter.
With a curious tilt, widened eyes record
Muscle spasms; calculating the
Flight risk; metering the force of the next
Outburst; prolonging the fun.

A game or performance art?
The victim's peers yell and screech
From the rooftops - do they know
The show is for them?

After few manoeuvres more it matters little
As a tiny neck snaps between missing teeth.
The audience scatters and the corpse is left behind
As an offering for those who feed the beast.

You come to my bed with prose written on your skin
And because of your love stories I let you in.

I would rather have honey than candied treats
And the nature of you makes it twice as sweet.

Your art and your song complete my thoughts
By your candlelight’s glow my heart is taught

To open wide to the possibility of you.

Morning, a cake sale
Such sugary pleasures here.
Eat, and eat some more.

You tucked your sugar candy wrapping
with surreptitious dainty dips
and lots of little body wriggles
in between my couch cushions
I found them when I did a clean

amongst a weight of quiet
tight squeezed tears
pushed by love out of sight
shaped in dainty pears
appealing with question shaped
twists and marks from subtle turns

I wish your apple secrets
kept so **** sweet
unwrapped and served
peeled with berries on a plate
in neat dressed shiny mint
response coated lozenges
so I could press that sadness out
and dissolve that reposed tinge
of unsolved hidden hurt
between your sensitive tongue
and my own open heart

I'd throw your cares
that empty wrapper stash
into red liquorice skies
to chew through a dash
of  lamp lit tinctures
and catch its splash
in tutti frutti sprays
wet with an array
of well licked flavours
but please keep away
those sticky fingers

look at your paper trail of pink and white
let's follow and pick up each far flung bow
there's a picture on one we can see smoothed out
a part of a boulevard not torn but bright
and it's a bonbon for eyes that dry I'd treat
tucked in a chat upon a couchette
to Paris with you tomorrow night

I had hoped to find a sort of love this fall. One that might have kept me warm through the winter.
I had hoped to make treats and nice things for someone who liked me enough to kiss my face.
I had hoped to find someone who would waste Saturdays at home with me watching Netflix.
I had hoped to find someone to pour my heart into- even if only for a moment.
I had hoped to find someone I could write about- someone who would be good to me.
Hoped.