My admission, My love

The air is voilent today,
and I reflect on the too long it’s been
since I’ve written to you;
about how my fingers trace the subtle valleys of your back.
How my eyes bat away your tangling tresses
as I whisper kisses behind your ear.
Since I’ve used far too many words to deliver a message I tell you daily.

But my live performance is never as eloquent as my literary self.
My three word admission my gun, bullet, my entire arsenal.
I worry if it is enough. Perhaps…
To offer a humble love in its raw form.

But if you wished
I’d gather the words of love from all languages,
to uniquely submit to you each day
my admission,
My Love.

Once Was You

The crook of her mother’s brow
shapes her earth toned world view,
reducing glitter to dust.
Grains of sun flee her eyes,
washed away
rhythmically lapping at her cut glass cheeks.
Each breath, drawing in a fearfully rose future;
fragile desires dashed
within her insecure moods.
Her palms gasp – parched.
Feet unmoved from where she stood
when she first said hello.

Good Morning

Half a cup of 20 second brewed tea
the rest poured through the sink
from my wide lipped enamel cup.
My allocated snooze-time the victor, overrunning this morning.

The lone seat left is a child’s naughty step
At the tram’s front facing the wall.
Flying passed crossed junctions with Warsan Shire, Frank O’Hara and Seamus in toe.

Today’s a steely blue
like those eyes that seem to just look right through you…
picking apart your thoughts before they leave your lips.

A cheeky wave to Amaal as I ascend
to the 1st floor where I see the little bees filing in.
Their heads bowed, hands concealed,
rolling lint
remnant of the tissue they forgot in the wash.

Hyacinth

You see
It lies in the false titles
given to those that bear the fruit.
To gain a recognition for deeds done,
the end goal not always in sight.

See… the warmth is blue,
a sombre heat without light
A form of cold pragmatism,
through exchanges of pregnant love.

You see directions are issued,
But to what end should that suffice?
We don’t all crave a destination, but instead
to be hooked – within two arms.

Victoria

I catch you just as you slyly slink away,
the hideously trendy homme across, next
to you – peering to our volly of glances,
His Cos demeanor cool
underpinned
by his atrocious cut chinos.

The deep rumble hurtles us along
the Victoria line -London’s blue artery,
it’s horizon a convincing night’s impression.

They were green
Or perhaps hazel
Our waltzing glances stealing covert gazes, Each a
second shy of a moment.

Continue reading

Vollies Afire

My love,

my mouth once knew your name.
far from these grand walls that part us,
thier spiteful spires casting a shadow
over the life of our former other.

From my minaret
to my domain I preach:
Prowess and accomplishments
-spitting
the cinders of burnt love.

From your tower I hear calls to prayer
To drink the wine of projected Perfection.
And with my jealousy concealed,
I no longer observe your commands.

Our social empires impose motionless taunts
our worlds locked in heated stalemate
unblinking,clocking each others move.

What tore us asunder?
My library knows well its history.
I a scholar…
of the downfall
of its date
of the blame.

Between us sand blew hot,
an arid gorge we created,
the empty wind lapping at our crumbling walls.
Within Our domain we’re but void caverns
-to a stale spite.

But Seasons turned, as droughts relief drips cool air,
And our cold war ceases.
Flags, doves    snow     afloat
-freed… In an air without heat.

We
no longer catapulting silence,
regaling all with single sided words,
salt the earth with propaganda;
searing hearts with volleys of words afire.

We
caress with hands sowing seeds of truce

All has been freed by time
Our conflict ended by fatigue;
-a perfunctory peace.

My former love,
I still wonder at your walls
Their shadows reaching my breast,
From what did our war arise?
I still recall
but no longer feel.