Thursday 22 November 2018

Grotto


Spelunk into the warm dark love throbbing gripping to not let go slick with salt and semen cave of my heart.
Once there, climb up the walls limber up those vast expanses where each hurt and each harmonious chorus is etched in swatches of turquoise.
Your clumsy efforts to find a foothold in this cold tundra is leaving petechiae all over my skin.
But then you like to mark everything.
I give you a book and it comes back blushing with crimson.
A photograph and the colours are more vivid, the features are more soft.
A poem and a line is changed and the ending questioned.
A dish and the ingredients switched. Blood oranges for lemon zest. Chocolate for most everything.
What chance does a fragile breath hold against such tenacity?
Make it yours.

Dandelion


today i mourn an unborn child
he’d have my words
and your many-layered smile
he’d carry an entire village in his head
and wear a slew of medals across his strong chest
my child would walk mountains with particular ease
and words and music will make his special feast
and he’d like to argue but also to stay calm
and when he’d hug you, you’d always stay warm
yes, my child he’d have stars in his eyes
and a spirit that never says die
and a moodiness that’s yours as much as it’s mine
and a constant craving for the simple life
maybe he’d write
no, he absolutely will
seeing what brought us together
words will enthral him
keep him still
ah that child of mine
would change you
in so many ways
and so today
i mourn my unborn child
and also, perhaps, my unborn life.