A year has gone by so fast and yet
I've been breathing at a snail's pace
In August you said I touched your soul
Now, you don't even talk back.
So my words are for myself, as
they reflect I hear them loud,
but when you finally read them
they'll sound hollow-glad I can't
see the look in your eyes.

I cannot know your mind in these matters,
only the cold egde to your words that
I do not believe is your voice, but
that of a strangled heart hurled
from a happy place to the very depths
of this kind of hell.
I thought it my place to rescue you,
but we found ourselves entwined in
a brambled love and embittered by
our want we fell further adrift until
we reached a crevice from which
to hang or hang ourselves.

Exhaustion-
                  Last night you walked my dreams.
I tried to take your hand, but you pulled away
without a word.
                   In the early morning light I awake.
Thoughts of you flood out the light and shadows
 play at the edges of my heart and mind.

I am tired.

I walk through the valley of the shadow of life,
my thoughts and my sins are my own,
Had I come by another time she might have thought
I wasn't interested in her or the socks she had on.

We lay on her bed almost an hour later,
Naked but fully clothed,
I felt like a baby swathed in cloths,
reborn by the nature of our love.

Inspired by Lip Service...

Trying to forget is hardest of all
things to do as we move in worlds
consistently reminding us of our
wrongdoings and the mistrust
we all feel in each other because
at the core we are all drawn to
the carnal sins we will commit
by the promise of sex and a sense
of exhilarating freedom from
ourselves.

This has played on my mind for a couple of days. It moves me now to read it on the page and place it here amongst all my emotions. It comes in light of the knowledge that to open up to someone is a great risk, but to not take that risk would deny the experience of feeling.


I wear her image on my mind,
she asked me to remove it,
said she did not want to be
my shield
so, I've placed her in my heart
for later.

There's a stillness__
           
               her face appears
as if from a great distance,
but her lips upon mine
we are as close as two people can be.

               
There's a stillness__

               I am alone now
a great longing remains,
but I know she will come
to be as close as two people can be.

I feel liquid, unsteady on high waters.
A bout of vertigo, today of all days?

A memory of my grandmother washing dishes-
her hands moving over and under the current
of the running water, as I struggle to hold my
balance on the footstool next to her-
pours over me, this downcast London day.

In the shadows, a hidden place.
Is there a hand that steadies me?

Future memories trail behind the hound
that barks infamous words from my
flagrant past lives and shouts-
oh ye of little faith,why not dance
upon my washed up, sodden grave.

Had I poured any more than a river of words

from a damaged soul and frayed mind,

than my still beating heart would have filled

this space with the red hue of a broken being.

As it stands, a river now flows and creates

the hills and valleys as it moves towards the

ears that sit at the mouth of its destination-

should the waves crash with rejection,

I will know my place.

There is evidence I am lost in my own head
counting crows and possibly stars in order
to pass a time of no particular importance to
anyone except possibly the flowers in the vase
with a name etched upon their fragrance.