Stolen Breaths

The sight of you pierced my lungs

burrowed deep

and left a gripping scent.

 

You smell of red earth under dark clouds awaiting nourishment

You smell of joy when a drop of rain meets an eager tongue

You smell of palm trees singing songs of praise at the sight of a new dawn

You smell of the hustle and bustle that pervades a busy market

You smell of the ubiquitous remedy prescribed by an overzealous grandmother

You smell of home.

You smell of me.

 

The sight of you pierced my lungs

burrowed deep

and never left

 

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Ephemeral Beauty

Inquisitive glances frantically

fetch micro pieces of you

(Allow me to recreate your Masterpiece)

Lines orchestrated by (Welcomed.Unwelcomed) fingertips flicker

leaving iron eyes, winding locks, bronze lips and

(I press you onto my canvass)

……………………………………………………… not yet.

Leave no skin unturned.

Over to your perched neck (Too weighted for my hands)

Veering left, down your wilful arm, into the abyss of your palm

escaping right

treading light

observing your being rise and fall

over and over and over and over (i fail)

Emboldened hips stream to cascading limbs folded defiantly

A warming.

Shifting confidence, a smile bubbles to your surfaces, (do you see it too?

(i’m blind to your truth)

Let me) you lightly prop up your masterpiece into the chasm between us as

your ephemeral beauty gazes back with force (you… i’m-) shh… just watch)

failure

your decrepit old bones are a testament to your youth

Blistered

Unrelenting

Cumbered

by the near-misses and near-achievements of your struggles

(always falling at the last hurdle with each cyclical stumble

a drain on your drive a betrayal to your ego a requiem for a dream)

 

A eulogy of unfortunatelys echo as hearts filter out of your chamber.

 

strand by strand

your locks of strength fall on tired eyes

obstructing envisioned trails.

Fleeting

with splintered hands unable to reify aspirations

last century last week

last century last week

 

footsteps caressed the earth

a muddy marshland full of flora and fauna (they whispered sweet nothings carried with dust hurrying tomorrow’s homecoming)

 

last century last week

smoked skin of oak dirt dust

met forking Paths and Rivers

Lagoons and Lakes

with brethren standing ten feet tall

 

last century last week

Home was earth and earth was

all.

Provider.

Giver.

Taker.

god

 

last century last week the whispers returned

full of quiet and fear.

 

the day came.

 

It broke with white sheet horizons

Golden Seas

righteoussness

and questions questions

of ownership of land of peoples of dark.

 

Stories were told over fleets of food stories

of guidance

of peace (of conflict) of harmony (of war) of welcoming (of cunning) of flourish (of profit

 

Sunset soon broke and steps were traced back on forked paths to salty air

where the day had to return

to white sheet horizons

Golden Seas

righteousness

 

and We

it’s chosen passengers.

 

Loaded

A loaded heart

A loaded hand.

And in it lies a blank story swimming through stars and galaxies

hurtling itself towards this very moment.

 

Today is like a song we’ve decided not to write,

for fear it might be too perfect,

or too imperfect.

 

Raw pink flesh guarded by bones with silent melodies only our ears are tuned in to hear.

Steady.

Yet guarded.

Against the pains of yesterdays, todays, and tomorrows to come.

 

I’m no knight in shining armour,

nor do I possess the power or strength to break down your walls.

I quite like the architecture.

It bears years of attentive building, shaping, and molding.

One only gentle hands could dare to form.

Let your insecurities adorn the floors, and walls, and ceilings.

 

Art flourishes in the weird and bizarre.

And when your imperfect masterpiece is ready for its exhibition,

may your castle gates open to this humble artist,

looking for but one corner to sit and admire the sights,

till time dissolves,

and leaves the sky dark, and the stars loaded with blessings.

 

Ode to my ex lover

I miss Panic.

Forget butterflies she could make my heart race faster than it’s ever been.

Wild.

Frantic.

Yet so calculated.

As if she knew I could only handle so much of her.

A daring drug mule.

And I was her sole customer.

4 doses at once. The kick’s better that way.

Kaleidoscopic journeys, her the shepherd, I the lost lamb. Only there were no big bad wolves where we were going,

only my wild daring dominatrix Panic.

I mean what else could I do but jump in bed when she came unannounced?

“Come. Wash over me, hurry up and take me” I would recite so attentively.

She made me think of infinite possibilities of our break-up just so I could cherish her there and then. And oh was she right…

I miss her rushing to my head and nestling in her shrine. I miss her telling me I could be anything I wanted. Literally anything.

I miss how that terrified me.

I miss the way my blood responded to her calling, as if a flood were racing through minuscule trenches and shifting the hurt around. Because it was always an infinite ride with Panic. No pee breaks. Just full throttle.

I guess you never know what you have till it’s gone.

So this is an ode to you my love. Whoever you are with, may they cherish you the way my body didn’t know how.

Relaxed, welcoming, and ready to overdose.

Window Shopping

Phone in hand,

your thumb eloquently flicks left,

and left,

and left,

and left,

and

you pause.

Diligently examining her imperfect.

 

She fronts a smile dragged through muddied eyes,

rinsed with tears and make-up

till the brown is pale but dark enough to merit your

Swipe

Left.A petite woman looking to meet new people just to see what happens

Left.

You liked them tall.

Said you didn’t want your mates taking the piss out of you for dating a…

someone like…

That’s much better!

5’11, blonde hair, blonde skin, green eyes,

loves a good workout, loves a laugh, and

is looking for a serious relationship.

“Looking for commitment on an app? Yeah right!”

Too tall, too blonde, too fake.

Left.

Her nose is weird.

Left.

Her smile’s too gummy.

Left.

What the fuck is that?!

Left.

Hmm… nah.

Left.You pause.

Diligently examining her…

Perfect.

Screenshot.

The lads would love to see this! You message them and caption your prize-to-be.

“I think I just found Angelina Jolie before she got old!”

Your pride swells up as they raucously praise the return of your hunt.

 

The word ‘beautiful’ vibrates on your tongue and drowns in your wet appetite.

The mannequin propped up on a pedestal comes to life,

as your arms envelop her trophy shaped being.

 

Your walk-in chasm is flooded by a rush of adrenaline,

and draws a faint smile, a quiet peace within you,

that lasts only for a moment.

And as it drains,

it leaves carcasses behind,

yearning for your puppeteering hands to reanimate them into

Left.