Scrabble

Scrabble

Dividing kilometres

by the words I can add up on my fingers,

hand to heart co-ordinating my pen to write

of your absent mind

whilst my mouth holds back lines,

sentences strung from the day’s reminders of you.

Tina knew,

love has something to do with it

but now is neither the time nor the place

to submit to measured spirits,

I’ve always drunk till contented

and even one can be too much for me.

So I sip today slowly,

stall my letters, keep them short,

the score only matters to those playing the game

and I am no one’s to gain.

I race with the softest of movements,

choices so silent I could slip away.

One For The Road

One For The Road

This empty hotel room

senses the lack of you,

scent lingering on sunken pillows

smells bittersweet, blended with jealousy

as my heart bottles this moment,

cap screwed on tight

in an effort to capture perfection

before it leaves on a plane.

I belong to the longing

and gather what stays,

your tiny imprints and easy mornings,

how you take your coffee,

the fit of your arm

as it curls around my waist.

Time’s precious reminder to stay present,

savour textures,

so I’ll take one of everything you sell

and make each bite last

somehow

until the market stalls open

with even more of this good for sale.

Pickle Jar Karma

Pickle Jar Karma

Today I’ll sit right in the middle of it,

in the thick, dense, lush bustle of love.

It does not do me any good

to exist on the periphery of this one.

Feel the pulse of my heart beat

as it runs through your finger tips

and turns your lips the richest mix

of red and pink. Forget all future things;

now is for sinking into our spirits,

the way yours sparkles through your eyes

and I’ve lost all doubt in universal signs,

spellbound in this spotlight for as long as it shines.

You’ve conjured up an aura that preoccupies my mind

with fascination for how the chapters in our stories

might use the time these bodies

find themselves writing the same lines

on the same side of the page.

Walking The Streets Of A Guided Tour

Walking The Streets Of A Guided Tour

The human heart

in search of a hand

that will hold it when the ache starts,

sharp bursts that break apart

our cold exteriors, tearing a hole

through calm atmospheres.

Craving someone else just to be here

to hear us shatter

and understand our cracks in the pavement,

how we fall through the gaps out of fear

of losing something worth saving for later.

Clinging onto the bruises that might matter

as if they are clues mapped out on skin.

Wearing ourselves thin,

instinct starving by the second,

till we can’t tell where the road ends

and the souls of our feet begin.

Puppet Show

Puppet Show

If there is no God, instead can I

grant myself the strength to do what is right,

help myself decide

which piece of my fragile heart

I should be guided by.

It doesn’t know whose side it’s on,

where to stand to be on mine.

So much does it love,

but so much it is lost at the same time.

Would it be letting go

of the most precious thing I’ll ever find

or is this a lesson

in treasuring moments while they last,

learning to leave what no longer serves

my best life.

Or is it you, walking away from me

because I don’t deserve this gift,

have I not cared enough and in the right way,

have I been too afraid to give it my all

or did I give all I could by two months in

and the rest is my passive acceptance

along a road I’m not meant to live,

waiting for the end

like I can’t start my own beginning,

like I can’t be my own higher power.

Wreckage

Wreckage

The edge of a cliff is a beautiful place

but I misplace confidence in my footing,

forget the risk of mud slides,

the effect of tears on mossy rocks.

By now, the fall should not come as a shock

and the shore breaks waves

like I am sure to break bones.

Blown away are the foundations

of a love to come home to,

for who could ever soften the landing

of a heart demanding to spill its own blood.