There is no mirror to state the condition of mind here in this purgatory of sorts, as darkly I trace the wounds of flesh inflicted, part sin and part virtue as drops of rose fragrance unto me cling. The moon drips silver gliding from the once abundant sky I suppose even she gets tired eternally … Continue reading Of a world behind the mirror

Tonight, the soul is dark and the moon's awash with tears as though aware of what's stirring inside, I am shades of sepia intermingled with blithesome and serious. Fleeting is lust and yet we continue to chase the desires of flesh, where do you go to when ocean foam refuses to touch your feet? When … Continue reading October: In accord with Autumn in bronze and song in heart

Milkweed is conscious of those who are impertinent, as Autumn spreads out and the pods burst the kind of poems I write are ones you read when in need of hope stretched out underneath the vanilla sky. It's interesting the way you twist words to work in your favour, step into the light of day … Continue reading Come again shining and glance in your good time oh naked wind, late morning

In the watery black surface of my being there lie fragments of the moon I have swallowed, gaunt and pale as death the only witness being the silhouetted shape of the rising moors their gasps conveying a thousand stories. There appears to be no need of anemones their short stalks of blueish green leaves branching … Continue reading Soliloquy – Confessions of a murderous lake

And now you inquire about the nature of my heart now, after extracting its nectar and bestowing emptiness once more along rugged edges and oval pores, the liquid amber which you drink of is nothing short of essence, urging Autumn awake from deepest slumber this maladroit handling of the affair has left me in pieces, … Continue reading Come Autumn, without turning I kiss the night, the maladroit and send him away

and speak for my tongue is broken, my shoulders dusted with a soft blush and the full moon that serves as sole witness to possibility that alights on my heart. In my eyes he matches the gods, the man who with the slightest inclination of his brow pours longing into lush reeds in water, profusely … Continue reading This sugar, this feeling tossed into the shoreline by a gathering storm

Under ambrose pale that has painted the leaves upon the ground, the long shadows of early September and the last remnants of cerulean blue Summer, I have mastered the art of getting by my determination raging in every drop of my blood and snakeskin. Mercurial and wayward is lust, that has discovered its way deep … Continue reading And touch the stubble plains with velvet hue, until the soul is filled with deep contentment