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.

Planting Poems To Let The Light In

Planting Poems To Let The Light In

It’s a choice I will make a thousand times

every day afresh, the pull and push,

can I turn to the care

to the love that is staring back?

You are free to leave

find another pulse to crave your heartbeat

but I did not brave World War Three

for an amputation, aborting possibilities

from the spirit glowing inside of me.

Let me treat you to a lifetime

of the softest words, sprinkled over skin,

I will patiently saturate each layer,

wait here till every drop soaks in.

Something Softer Than Flowers

Something Softer Than Flowers

It’s December 2016, and we pack these winter blossoms

into bento boxes, whispers of potential

to warm these bones, worn as a wish

but later wrapped as a promise.

You profess you cannot understand poetry

so brave the words in plain sight, born of longing

for a lighter spring, a bold leap towards belonging

to the flow of the seasons and folded limbs.

‘More fun’, you said, ‘more time’, list reasons to celebrate

our intertwining lives and smile at the story so far.

The story; so far.