Whenever I Go To The Coast

Whenever I Go To The Coast

The glare of the afternoon sun

caught sight of your hands

as they grazed my skin,

lightly committed lines leaving traces

like sand grains, sprinkled thinly into glistening patterns

where our dry backs meet the ocean

and gave in to melting.

What I mean to say

is that I cherish these soft days

where souls are christened with sea salt

and float atop peace waves,

where healing is a boat

that casts out its anchor

on the beach shores of our suffering,

nets spread tenderly with intentions

to carry the load off my mind.

Equilibrium in Motion

Equilibrium in Motion

This is not a war

and there is no you outside yourself

to fight.

It’s just the passage of thoughts

and fleeting feelings,

laying themselves to rest for awhile

inside an impermanent body,

which you also inhabit

as an everlasting spirit.

Part of being

is life becoming,

all in this together,

and nothing in nature is exempt from this change.

So notice how we change with you,

refined for our next revolution,

even the rivers and streams have currents.

If You And I Had Been Elemental Forces

If You And I Had Been Elemental Forces

Camden market, where I came by

those shoes on your feet. A comfortable fit

to make this mountain climb an easier course,

with a sky of clouds to conquer,

autographed with the mind’s eye.

To finish the picture,

sometimes, we painted our own clouds.

Called this one cumulonimbus,

another formed the shape we know as shame

next to those of cotton-candy kindness

frozen in time. This pattern came

and stayed, covering the stars

like a foggy window pane

and sending down showers of shadows

we forgot were homemade,

but our cheeks will always wet the same

when our skin meets one another’s pain

and mine are still soaked through

from being too soft or hard on you.

Each counted towards the chance of an impending storm

and luck was skirting the lightning strikes

that tracked our every step,

as moonlight fell on this divided town.

Until one of us, lost

the other one, left

both chasing the finer weather.

Extinction with an Open Fist

Extinction with an Open Fist

A butterfly, landing on your upturned palm

seeks trust in the warmth of your skin

and a place to rest, to shelter

in the spring days that still bring winter chills.

For the minute she sits in your hand

could be years in her life span

and yet she chose you, saw something

in the blueness of your eyes

that she wanted to be closer to.

Maybe it reminded her of the sky,

where her blessed wings allow her

to spend her time;

except you’re jealous of her freedom,

her ability to fly

and whilst you didn’t stop her leaving,

instead you took the fingers from your other hand

and in childish fascination

slowly plucked her legs off one by one.

Humanity’s twisted appreciation

for the wild creatures, who give us love

that we just maim until they’re gone.

Marici

Marici

Once,

twice,

three times.

This canvas

delicately painted with waves of craving

that crash before we reach the shore,

with sand warm against my bare back,

Your face shielding my gaze from the glaring sun,

a showcase of your freckled skin,

traced with raised edges

where I dug my nails in.

Sunday’s sin can be forgiven

when it was neither seen nor heard

but spoken in tongues.

You want to know,

you want me to teach you

the ways of my God

like how this beach becomes one with the sea,

but my God doesn’t obey the prayers

formed between a man’s clasped hands,

first he must dare to get his feet wet.

Golden Pneumas

Golden Pneumas

At first the wind carried me,

catching my weary legs once crippled with worries

and careless whispers, now cradled by the warm breeze

and wrapped in the sweetest words.

I cannot remember the last time I uncovered this skin,

exposed it to sunlight, to movement, feet aching

from the walk across hard pavements and hill climbs.

Your hand on my bare thigh

takes me a moment to recognise it’s mine;

I watch in awe of the goosebumps that grow,

how our miracle bodies react to the cold,

bruised and scratched but satisfied.

Let me rest on this birch tree, exchange a smile

with the panting dog – he knows I know

what freedom feels like amongst the pines.

As do the birds, they haven’t stopped singing

since I stepped outdoors and their gentle presence follows me

like little Cupids,

arrows flying towards the soft lips of my new lover,

alone, as she speaks to herself.