Of you and tiny rooms
where dripping taps
curate yearning museums
beside the kitchen sink
Of ellipses…eclipse of rain behind madness,
we rise as sunrise
saluting never-ending noon,
what lies beyond was the moon
underneath blankets, undressing
Of you and travelling in (f)light
literary terrorists aboard fighter jet streams
lust pilgrims sacrificed at atlas altar;
it’s not the end which matters
but the journey, in the end
Of Sunday sunlight angles
seeping into pillow corners
obtuse, always 180 degrees from my heart,
babe, the coke doesn’t work
if you’d sniffed snow instead
we could have been forever winter
Lung’less breathing of homecoming sailors
a navy fleet always circling below your naval,
didn’t we know there were so
many salacious hands craving you?
Of you and ghosts wearing my favourite negligee
oxygen ahoy, romance-breaths pirouette on cliff edge
falling and then sinking as concrete ballet
shoes into thighs and groins of naked seas
Let’s just call the end pretend
and start all over
<< rewind, always on pause,
life isn’t theatre or cinema
Or, simply, tell the World we never met,
oh fuck it, the vow(el) of silence,
we never truly loved anyway
