I’m carving a draydel out of cedar for you. All is right with the world.

I would like to live with you
In a wood cabin on a lake.
Lying awake at night
By an open fire
With your hand on my cheek,
In my hair,
On the back of my neck.

A Star of David
Hangs in the window.
A pine wreath on the front door.

The pop and crackle.
Your breath in my ear.
The wind at the chimney.

It wouldn’t be so bad.

Won’t you be more tender?

The weight of your hand
in the small of my back
reminds me why,
when we were younger,
we stood awkwardly on either
side of the parish hall
with its squeaky plastic floor.
Jostling one another and laughing
or scuffing old tennis court markings
and staring sheepishly at our feet.
Trying to work up the courage
to ask you to dance.

This is how it starts

The letters you sent me,
on the handmade note paper,
are like little pieces of you
that I can carry around with me.

On the bus, I can
reach in my pocket
and touch you.

I read them in the evening,
before I go to sleep
and think of what you might be getting up to.

Wondering if
you are awake
reading bits of me too.
Committing them to memory.

Curving Desires

The mood was
Deliciously awkward
As I pushed your hair
Back over your ear
And told you I had such
A wrenching of the heart
And the uttermost desire
To kiss you then,
Beneath the yellow flicker,
With disconnected and
Recycled syllables
Popping and fizzing in
Our ears and all around us.

The Return Journey

Set a course through the heavens
in a white winged boat,
sorry, ‘yacht’,
and make sure to see
all the sights.

All those suns
with their fiery brilliance
and the patchwork quilt
of the constellations
long dead.

Pull anchor as close as you dare
to the black holes’ pull
into infinity,
before you set your sails
on the solar winds
for the edge of existence.

And when you’ve seen
all there is to see,
of the night sky
with all its twinkly little fairy lights
slowly going out, one by one,
make sure to come back
and have a cup of tea with me
and tell me all about it
with those lips and that tongue
and those eyes.

‘In Dublin’s Fair City…’

“Why did you make me
Walk so far. You said the
Bus stop was closer. And
Now my feet hurt and my
Back a bit too. And my fingers
Are too cold and my head is
Too warm. Silly thing”

But secretly,
I liked walking you to your
Midnight busstop,
Through the cold corners
Of this town,
Even if we’re not in love.

Cos I don’t feel like a gentleman
Not nearly enough, not to mention
A plain ol’ human being.

And besides,
On the walk home
Alone along the canal,
With its sound sleeping ducks
And its floating armadas
Of forgotten goods,
I can think what I’m
Going to say to a
Pair of bright blue eyes
That I’ve been dreaming of
For a while now.

A Stranger Stranger

Howdy there, my stranger.
Please don’t come into my hole.
It is dark and it is lonesome
and it don’t feel like no home.

The kids are fast asleep
with their eyes all tied up tight.
So don’t keep your hand a-knockin’
or you’ll wake them with a fright.

I know the night is darker
than the blackest black you know
but I’m feeling rather foolish
and I don’t have far to go.

So hold it there, my stranger,
‘fore you knock against my door.
Just stay a stranger, stranger
or you won’t knock any more.

Sharing Marshmallows and Umbrellas

You know I guess I’m just
fed up
with love being some kind of
Wondering what others will say, about your
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?