When the future is so fragile it can hinge on the hesitancy of one breath how can my love for you be important? Yet whether fluttering or heavy this fragrance bypasses control forcing vision into
I keep mulling over what was said Passing it between my hands like a warm ball of dough. When I was younger I used to let the sea direct my movements. I would stand just beyond the reach of its sputum-covered fingers as they were
Red scribbles Pert petals As though crayon held In closed fist laid a defiant flurry. Graceful stems lean to the right away from the gusts of critics effusions. In case they should misinterpret
Your face has faded Like my feelings for you Has been squashed In subconscious self-preservation Lusting after your memory Which I pillage with indecency Scrutinising every scrap of it To leave behind husks, picked clean
If I was to knock on your door late at night would you let me in? Beckoned by the light beneath your door Softly strewn into the dark, like a marshlight, It is shamelessly tempting me into Knocking