I like to dress in black,
Hood up, listening to Chopin.
Walking through the Overground carriage,
watching myself cease to exist
As people cut eyes
And the possibility of a simple perfunctory grin.
jcfitzderick
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.
Adam
I remember you from a former life,
from a track
ran by road-youths.
before adult reality’s claxton,
screamed our cease.
In my mind I still
Visit you.
We never drifted.
There was no loss,
no flood of blood,
washing away your innocence.
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.
J.C. FitzDerick 