Too HeartSick To Miss You In Storm Weather

This is part of my Seasonal Nostalgia series.

Nose, stop running
Heart, stop leaping
This is a human body,
Not a P.T. class.

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Falling in love is like having your stomach turn over. You can make it about the nausea or about the roller-coaster ride. 

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Poetry Is Better Written Than Lived

A rose stained in blood
A note splashed in wine
Painful and beautiful
These torn loves of mine

My passion is messy
So my poetry is bold
But in the end, a tattered self
Is all that I hold

Midas Memory

I have thrown away your memories
I have erased your name
From my poetry, my notebooks,
My life is now almost the same

Now my hands reach for strangers
Shake firm, my touch free of residue
Just the merest hint of a tremor
That no one would know was you

The Art Of Exhalation

Every breath is a leap of faith.
Letting go of air
Never imagining
it won’t come back.

So take a deep breath and jump anyway.
Let it all out,
let it go away
Something will come back.

Sex Stories

The crazy fucking of true crime
The elaborate lovemaking of literary fiction
The steady sex of drama
The quickies of comedy
The romantic touches of tragedy
The slow strokes of horror

Every story is a sex story with its reader.

The Sense Of Stories

Read me a story of touch
when I cannot see

Sing me a song of colour
that reaches through
the white noise

The Masochism Of Writers

Say you’ve got a story
I know it already
I knew it before you wrote it
You ask me what I think; you’re
hanging eagerly onto my answer
I pause and I say, you
should have made me nicer.

Gluttony Isn’t A Sin

Gluttony Isn’t A Sin

To feast on silences,
rich with promise and
garnished with warm breaths

To sip a thought
and feel it roll into the senses,
curling up into the head behind eyelids

To taste words,
that have sat in the mouth before
but never quite this way

To swallow a feeling so tender, it didn’t need chewing and feel a lump rise to meet it

What’s for dinner?

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