Thirty something; drinker of whisky; witty third thing.

Haunted by
quiet hours so
my mind
may search for which light
you’re attracted to,
and admire how it
falls away, slowly.
My eyes kneel in front of
smooth stones stacked
with care, distracted
by how you make me
Can these woods and
hushed webs
the memory of toes
that searched here, once,
Or forget that patterned dress
that danced
among faded yellow
weeds, consoling
ancient hurts?

I search but can’t find
the words that wont
pass your lips,
not realising you have sent them already
in your thoughts.

in your north and west
spend summer nights
sleeping naked. Cream fingers clutch
-ing cool sheets to you
in a soft bed of my thoughts.
Milky quartz slides
its silver band dances
as you catch wishes
that waft down(ward),
like feathers
from a nightly bird in magnificent flight,
and freeze
in that soft illumined light.
And so falls
the darkness like a silken hour,
clothing you with with
a brush of your skin that
feels like lovers
You softly hum
never seven
smiling at the colour of our
and thinking of

Tea drips
in time
with my frozen-frame thoughts of you
And that book you wrote, once,
And hate.
The wet shadow on the floor echoes
Red marks on my skin that you left,
when burning words made
Me drop my cup,
breaking the silence with its breaking
Rather than with your certainty.

My stirring thoughts were black birds,
Gently pecking delicate fingers,
You thought to catch them; to wrap me round-
Instead, you coiled a spring.
I am awake now,
Can you see what you’ve awakened?!

I love your steel coldness,
I love your sleek edge,
Elongated, with sharp tines,
And equally dangerous curves.
In you I see fragments of reflection;
I pick you up, and turn you over,
Run a finger down your back,
And press you where I will,
Relishing the tastes you make mingle within;
The sensation of you bringing me life.

Reaching, I find your empty space’s space;
A nothing with sensation like no thing.
Your hungry numbness leaves a hollow taste;
Your pale sighing and cellophane glance
Empty the memory of my unfelt caress.

Ill act as though these keystrokes are blades
Carving words upon your screen,
My fingers slash open, dancing along the cracks-
But blood betrays, as my words will.
It won’t shed.

Words full of taste, taste full of smell,
Smell full of touch, and touch full of memory,
That won’t spill for you.

You can’t read between their lines
Can’t remember their colour,
Can’t sense their magnetized need,
When all you see is drips of pooling nothing,
Mingling on an etched glass.

We were like two suns,
Fighting for the same heaven.
Two titans, diminishing each other-
As though the Dawn could set its rage against the Dusk.
Each questing to illumine The Moon,
As she climbs ephemeral twilight.

If this Sun had hands,
He’d reach and run a finger along
her sweeping curves;
Caressing each mound with a familiar touch,
She’d light up for him like a lantern
Hanging in the sky.

And if she glowed for another sun,
He would burn hotter still,
Blazing for her,
Burning himself,
Consumed in a devouring inferno.
Becoming one with a blacked sky.

There, to be the night for her,
There, that she might shine in her silvery glow,
There, to be her shade as she reveals her face in moments.
There, to wander with her along the evening’s shore.
For all men look to her,
And she is where all stars end.

All energy is borrowed.
And knowing Your thirst, I
Place A heavy glass into your outstretched hand, and un-stoppered,
Pour Myself out for you as a drink.
Whiskey of course. Neat.
Difficult to describe. Complex with notes of strength. And doubt.
A dram for your palette?
O, how I hope!
I would have You drain Me, now.
Drink Me in one draught from Your Lips-
With one gasp from Your Eyes.
And My energy betwixt Your greater, unfolding in you and expanding – would fill you.
Eyes closed. Drops savored on red lips, slowly, You breathe Me out. A vapor floating in the dark,
Reborn to ride high on the night breeze alongside, as Your Soul wheels in the air, silent. Magnificent.