the eventual decay

of mortality, fills my

mouth like a flock of

white doves; leaving

well kept

our palms clasped in an

uneasy disposition, and

fingers wound into a spiral

of enclosed memories; are

these the only tell tale signs

we know of well-kept silence?

to forgive

will you look – point blank

into the iris of mistake,

loosen your pursed lips,

unwind your iron heart;

to the sway of forgiveness?


we laid with our

bodies slinked around

different worlds, your

desires; a gapping distance

away from mine. yet, still we

grew in unity. cradled with

the open, giving palms of

limited time and infinite love.



worry does not alter

the colour of the dead

sea, nor does it direct the

wind towards clearer land.


our fingers stiffened around

bamboo poles, peeling bold

blue slithers of plastic worn

with age. slivers of brown hay

reach into deep gravel as they

recollect into soft stumps; shaven

straws of grass; strewn across our

patio pavement, snuck into refuge

between strand-thin cracks. there

was only the soft, muffled sound

of shuffling slippers, as the knobs

of your knuckles crunched with

grip upon each sweep.


sun bones

uncertainty wells like a

flame steeped in gasoline,

here- between my clavicle,

my narrow sternum frame

is clenched as the feet of

bright sun birds, perched

upon a trembling branch.


my hollowed windpipe

caught between a narrowing

throat, of vessels; clenched as

a diving fist; into wet concrete.

black hole

horizontally frozen, limbs

numb in the face of fear;

anticipation leaks a foul

odour, reeking a pungent

stench of, familiar despair