you are the
core within tallow

a braided cotton
beauty destined to burn brightly

The surf rolls and
ripples like a centipede’s
cascading legs.

Emotional hubs are kicked
and dredged through
the Atlantic’s merciless brine.

Delivered, near drowned;
damaged minds lie as
detritus on a stony beach.

Thoughts are brittle
shells pulverised
into grains of sand.

Fragments of consciousness
castaway, where Loneliness
is a private beach.

Naked but for
snow laden branches,

the silver birches
shimmer, lit by hopping lanterns;

comet tails flash
amongst skeletal frames.

Under the venerable
boughs of the Emancipation Oak,

leaves fell at liberty
into the laps of Afro-Americans.

Lincoln’s proclaimation
sowed acorns amongst dissent;

now mighty oaks grow,
conquering bitter winters.

The sponge
is soft and as
light as innocence -

the colour of
honey and distant
fields of corn.

Lemon zest hangs
like paper lanterns
in vanilla coombs

and sugar glistens
like specks of glitter
in children’s dreams -

illuminating
crumbs in the
labyrinth of ****.

though distant
the ural wolf
bites deeply

Nascent budding rose –
Crimson swirl of gravid depth;
Blooms in ****** pall.

Solar flush of youth –
Petals parched as sandy dunes;
Crumbling into dust.

words flow
like honey
through the
hives of our minds

Odes, condensed milk;
Reduced, sweetened brevity.

Cherries –
bound by blood knot.

Molten passion –
plump, ripe, moist, alluring.

Bolted stems –
anchored in the deepest flesh.

To wrench apart –
would shatter the world.

...you're a slippery fish;
a swirling rainbow
beyond hook and line.

Dodge well and
weave with perfection.

The red dress hangs, still.
Awaiting your form and flesh -
A matador's swish.

From the beach
We see a
Wind farm wave.

James calls them
Windmillows,
And I smile.

Now he calls
These windmills,
And I frown.

Soon they will
Be turbines -
I shall grieve.

Rolling sky like,
the grey and blue pushchair
became a cloud.

Dusk…
…in the
space between
jigsaw pieces –
lost.

You are like bed sheets flapping in the wind;
Snap happy giggles alive with the thrum of Summer.

I am tall - though not tall enough to see beyond the trees.
I hear screeching gulls but are they mere Sirens?
I smell and taste salt on the breeze. Does the ocean pulse?
Cradling my head, I wonder.

Lung's heaving,
Breath trapped in treacle pools.

Lake blue lips, quince skin -
Larghetto drowning.