Same Old

With One word or

One look, it’s over.

When just before I was about ready

To stand up and shout

Out about this crazy little thing called ‘Swoon’.

But with you I’ve learnt how quick

Instant really is. That tone of voice

 Or your head

In those hands makes me cough

Up that lump in my throat for

A little bit of attention,

That stuff that made me ‘Smitten’.

So when the change comes,

As it has come before, the mood is more

Suited to those willing to fight for the

Sake of it,

 When I’d rather scream for the love of it.

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