As time passes

you fade into orange

London night: I return

to my skin, joyful at

finding myself.

It’s the way you slip

in, get underneath my

fingernails inhabit the

space behind my eyes

two fishes unaligned

pulling in opposite directions.

It was a novel experience

at the start ‘n I still crave it

like heroin, but heroin makes

me sick vomit up my life

benumbed in pink light

It’s the way you slip

in, get underneath my

fingernails inhabit the

space behind my eyes

you, so intent on intensity

I pop like a glass bulb.

It takes about a week

for the symptoms to

dissipate, I smile again

at old ladies, at grey

commuter faces.

Maybe ‘Boots’ could sell

a detoxifying lotion:

I could spread it on the sky

& hope you couldn’t

find me.

It’s the fear that overrides

oroboric  warmth collective

suicide, where egoless

we float until the end

of time

which brings me back to

………time passes…………

I didn’t know you were

solid green with shades of

cowslip in-between, grey stone

plied from river bed

three razors immaculately left

bleeding on the bleached bench.

Your garden’s styled in ‘Hampton Court’

trees round and pruned with purple Iris

peeping through the glove of soil.

I’m stung with the eloquence

of each perfect detail immaculately

placed: a life defined by art

your home a holy grail of story.

I hear the drips of opened wounds

the stripped pine shows scars

of stolen lives.  Two torches stand

next to sunglasses the umbrella sentinel

as clocks chime their’ white rabbit’ rant

every fifteen minutes.

Morning wakes gently here

creeping from the marsh

illuminating yellow paint:

your cottage rests like a

worn thumb beside its other digits

coloured walls a totem to the past

cricket on the lawn

long summer suppers with

freshly squeezed lemonade

sticky to the tongue

with a tart aftertaste:

like love.

I can smell Spring

today, all grassing

green, as tulip’s sway

in misty dawn

& here we are

still planted firm

although the earth

has turned another

revolution.

I can smell Spring

today, joints aching

from deep winter chill

warmth stretches

out a hand in promise:

I’ve Iris in my hair

Magnolia shouts

from every cottage

corner

& here we are

face to face

n’ cheek to cheek

another year of

unlived mystery

Spring tide will turn

leave shattered glass

on tales of make believe,

how many lifetimes lived:

in fleeting moments

strangers kiss

I turn & turn

I genuflect

each place that

I have known

opens wide its arms

to hold me.

& here we are

still planted firm

although the earth

has turned another

silver revolution.