Simples

So there’s this girl,
right,
as there often is.
And she puts a certain
spring into my step

like when you know
that if things keep going
the way they’ve been going
you might end up
doing something
you most definitely
will regret.

But what the hell,
life is short right?
And if not, then at least
I have some time to make
amends. So I’ll make my
mistakes now and
learn from them.

Besides,
when she smiles
all I can think of
is her.

Samson

I could see clearly the
smooth pink of your lips
as they met and parted.
It reminded me of days
and of my love’s gentle sighs.
Your fingers also continued to fall
and rise and each time seemed
opaque and free.

And suddenly it was as if
love and fear and all the other
green prejudices of our minds,
that pour out on wet and windy nights,
were just droplets of rain
on a train window
and could be as easily wiped away.
Leaving only the creases
at the edges of your
subtle
brown
eyes.

In the gentle night

When we walked
in the gentle night,
through dark woods.
And our dreams and our coattails
dragged softly behind us.

I knelt to pluck
a single flower from the earth,
too singular and beautiful to just let be.
And your face was like the moon
and your eyes like the stars.
I moved up against you and in
to taste the heavens.

Bray

A crisp and golden autumn evening
The air rife with the realness of life,
And the bells.
And the bells.

We had delicately shared some
Fish and chips down on the sand
Yet still your fingers tasted of
Vinegar and love.

And hand in hand
We rode out
To find the night.

Sharing Marshmallows and Umbrellas

You know I guess I’m just
fed up
with love being some kind of
drama.
Wondering what others will say, about your
‘friends’.
Of having to have “deep meaningful conversations”
with other people
when all you want to do is share a slice of pizza
with her.
Or take her out to the movies, holding her hand in
the dark
Or watch her cross the grass with her hair blowing, her face
a smile.

I’m waiting for
the long emails
where you read right through
and the blustery days
where you wear coats
and run in the park
and hold hands
and drink hot chocolate and cocktails,
sharing marshmallows and umbrellas.
I’m looking for the innocence.
Where’d that go?

Lost

Tokyo city at night
we told the taxi cab to ‘just drive’
I fell asleep against the window
and woke up on your shoulder.

You were holding my hand.
Not just in a casual sort of way
but actually holding it out
admiring the contours of my hand,
it seemed,
the pink of each nail.

And for a little while
I pretended to be asleep
because I almost
didn’t want to know why.

Composure.

I don’t want to fuck in the sand
and curl my toes in the heat.
I don’t want to taste the grit and moisture
between your teeth
or run my nails across your back,
oily with sweat.

I want to smooth down your hair
and whisper your name,
to be able to
fall in love.

This is the day.

The smooth expanse of supple black leather that is my desk,
like a stretched and scraped skin left to dry and shine,
the biggest man you ever saw.
And the to-and-fros of bobbing heads from my window.
Tree branches like fingers
groping for that yellowing golden noose
of lamplight.

These are all I have left,
these and my old worn cassette player.
We had good times.

Perhaps I should eat a slice of butterless toast
and go dance new-born in the rain.
This is the day I forget about you.

Pressure.

You make a right mess of my hair, Sarah,
You really do.

But it’s a comfortable mess: it brings me comfort.
It’s haphazard and effortless.
Bothe erattic and relaxed.
It’s the sort of mess for which the vain may strive
and perhaps the modest too.
So can I stop trying now?

Filling in.

Black blank ink
trickles over a page of shapes,
filling holes, bridging gaps.
 but not in a ‘Christian Brotherhood’ sort of way.

This is the past-time,
for an hour or two,
of the soul-hungry individual.
With this filling in he blocks out everything,
for an hour or two.

Who needs faces with holes,
when you have words without.