Demise (#15)

I am a flower pot Tumbling down the table, I still shatter in your palms As you try to catch me; Now we’re both bleeding world’s sucking our tongues while the galaxies around us burst open into nothingness My mouth is a sex fluttering like the butterfly in your belly It crawls down your abdomen

The Gardner

The Gardner – that made me, you and the bellowing universe amidst a poetry of Creation, a scream of magnificence.

Of Silly Ruminations

I want to be an openness bending at the tip of the sunlight falling on my back. But I’m also afraid of burning in my own fire. I carry my hostilities like a poet who adores perspiring on a hot sunny afternoon in the arms of an old monument that houses some grand secrets only

A Melting Tangerine (#8)

It’s a touch I recognise and swallow – a strawberry taste/ a bathing tide/ a summer scream.

Wonder (#7)

I remain a sinner seeking heaven – an irony dodging misery only to write poems on it.

Of Summer Sighs & Wishful Graves

Her mouth is a language you know all too well, but beneath it is a forest that gardens its own warmth, a hope that eats itself because it has never been fed.

Epidermis (#5)

But I’m deranged in places that don’t exist loud enough.

A Heavy Summer (#3)

I think of all the pages dying every night in the grave of your spit.

The Language of Words (#2)

People often talk about the ground slipping from under their feet, but have you ever felt it slipping right back?

In the Shadows of a page

A poster and a thought.