Rebirthed into cold waters,
with saint Sebastian's arrows falling on our foreheads,
leaving a penitent blood dripped on my lips. You kissed it off me like it was honey.
I wanna meet you again on a desolate hillside,
with a punctured bicycle
without a Salford lad narrative.

Splitting my lip,
on your ivory messages of total control
and I love it.


I want to ******* while you're wearing figure skates
until marble floors grind down to Henry Moores.
You are paradise, found.
Dante's balming embrace.
It was a bright and soothing daytime.
You were ticking the right boxes so often that pencil went through paper and stained my knee with graphite while I was left figuring out a composition,
of a portrait of the artist as a young fan of your beauty.  
as we fell lips-first and made head on collisions look like speedbumps.

Take me to the sunflower fields
With you;to that chaotic little town
at the edge of the sea
With you,to the flavescent moores for a stroll
To that ancient shrine with idols abound
Take me,to the windy seas on a sailship
To that kawaii Japanese cafè round the turn
Take me to the vintage cities and cobblestone streets
To that souvenir shop for a statuesque keepsake
With you to the mausoleum,so austere
Wreathed in silver mist
To the lovely riverside as night falls
Take me... With you
To the top of the green roof of your house
With watermelon popsicles and ice

With you,
       For a kaleidoscopic journey.

Sunset lit crystal blue sky softens evening
sights, easing heat swirls along deep dug
channels and birdsong drifts,

a stretch of coiled black tarmac
runs beneath not visceral pitch as
dusk approaches granular strip
edges the road,

and a beetle black crawls along, oval
shaped, creased down its back hawling,
legs like a rowing eight seeming to
dip into the strip,

as I look down there is no sense in this
movement, no goal, no refreshment, but
carrying on whatever into the night.

Stretching my kneck upwards a jet ebony
black woman walks along wreathed by mountains,
Sierra Nevada perched on her head a rare
sight in these parts,

far off coal black hills sprout a tatty covering of
green flecked tweed, ribbons of meltwater
rush down to where I stand spring still
flushing,

in the fast approaching twilight seems like
a sleeved arm lyeing on the land a tanned
knuckle of dried rock stretches out - wrinkled,
sunburnt calluses around.

All creatures share this abundance
turned from semi-desert into an oasis
by Iago and his Moores.