“Greenish yellow. All ghosts wear clothes of this colour.” Frida Kahlo     Sunrise over a Christmas market, somewhere,  tinsellitis in hollows of a church bell.  knells the beauty of the cancer coming.     Black-coal morning,  flames in the hearth are the same fire  which burns haunted houses down.     All...

my sadness haunts, touch me once and you'll feel it toothe misty darkness in my eyesthe depths of my soul, clowded over with shadowskeening heart, a wept rebellionin deep need of understandingalone in my painnone to know, I drive...

Amongst the silver drops of rainI heard the silent water hissInvited with a hazy holdAnd a pull of a longing kiss. Wrinkled layers she then removedHeavy onto the floor they landKneeling down onto her two kneesMy pole she squeezed in...

My body is a sunken mausoleum. Within is a ghostly spirit who's restless.   Sunken as my once youthful plump cheeks. Within is a reticent tongue that lashes no more.   Youthful blushes replaced by the cold purple of twilight.   The twilight...

You can make love to me all nightThat is pleasurableBut there is no act of loveCompared to the one of gazing into my soul.