softer.softest.

swing open, door!

Grit, gravel and spit,

Bonfires lit, then dampened

With sentiments cast out like runes,

Unfulfilled and self fulfilling, twisting

In pockets

Where graven, holy hands

Finger them smooth as golden eggs,

And keep them warm until they burst.

Sunday Morning

You have eyes like an

Egyptian cat.

Now,

There’s a story

Behind that. ‘They aren’t mine’

I say.

I borrowed them.

I met him playing dice in the alleyway.

In the dark.

Playing dice with a scarab beetle.

Howling and cackling.

Drinking from strong bottles and

Betting with caps. His eyes, I remember

I promised to bring them back.

With a plump and juicy rat

Caught

Between my own teeth, and

Wrapped

Within my own hair.

Harry for Henry, Forever.

My bedroom best-friend.

A Hint (beginning of the end)

she said 'thank you
for the Turkish
Delight last night,
among other things'

SilverLight