Tuesday, August 23, 2011


You scare me with your silence. I could shake you, slap you, put you out of your misery, carry your tune in my step or hold you till my breath dies . But you wouldn't feel a thing and I'd die if you said something after I've given up for this one last time.

Thursday, August 18, 2011

A Hundred Times

It happened so quickly. Pressed against the wall, your hands locking me down, all I saw was a blur. I could hear you take short, sharp intakes of breath while I dared not even blink. Your eyes burned into my bowed head and I fidgeted till you quietened me the only way you knew how. You leaned in until every inch of me acknowledged your presence. When I finally looked up to meet your gaze, you slipped your hands into my hair, softly stroking them and I died for the hundredth time. You didn't stop there though, oh and how I hoped and wished you wouldn't, and you didn't. Your lips nudged and teased my earlobe, traveled down to my neck, licked the entire length of it with a slow and deliberate trawl and you stopped right then letting your lips rest on my nape, while you let me catch my breath for a moment. Your eyes shut tight, you had your lips pressed hard against my skin, waiting as I made up my mind for the hundreth time but only this time this wasn't a dream. And it was with that realization that I sank to the floor, but you stayed there, watching me bite my lips in confusion. What happened next, I won't ever understand, but there I was on the stone, cold floor with the man I had hopelessly given my heart to a hundred times over, disappearing into the glowing dust that danced in the faint afternoon light.

And there I was waking up from a dream I've just about escaped from a hundred times and more.

Tuesday, August 9, 2011


they come crumbling off the pages
spilling more than what I can hold
forming puddles of reflected light
that splash out into the receding memory
of your flight.

leave no trace in the wind, nor in the
breath of the lover left to revel in his
all too heart wrenching, solitary existence
bereft of encircling arms and comforting hollows
of warm flesh, that could speak to him in even
the deepest sleep of the darkest nights.

come unasked for, like you. A pulse that quickens
with every premeditated typographic flourish of
your everyday babble, can only take me so far as the edge.
And then there's a slight push, that comes gently
from a gaze that flickers with the afterglow of electric
backlight, that I can't see but imagine, till it awakens
a response.

possess moments with startling vengeance, hiding
them from us in layers of glorious, seductive, infinitely
murky possibilities and we succumb like the
house of cards we are, destined to grovel
at their feet until we may utter them no more.

Monday, August 8, 2011