December 15, 2019
And in her room she built a shrine.
All bone marrow, flesh, and blood.
Dusky pink particles cover the vanity.
Everyday potions applied to shape and change her face:
In the morning to conceal, in the evening to reveal.
Two matches burnt out and laid at the feet of god.
November 23, 2019
Snatch the rose
Pluck it from the sky, and
Drink the youth that spills from her curling lips.
A lifetime in mad moments
A sweet, dark liquor that consumes the mind and soul.
A sickening rose against the urban jungle,
Drowning in dangerous thorns
Which ruin the rough ha...
September 6, 2019
You were sat inside
by the window, picking at paintchips.
I wish I could glide to you
and blow cool air on your face
through the screen window.
Do you remember poking at carwigs
by the porch with plastic forks?
Do you remember eating honeysuckles
until you make yourself sick?
February 7, 2018
how reassuring a hand can be.
A variably sized,
blood bag attached...
November 19, 2017
Is this not Clapham Common?
I ask because I don't recall:
My memory is a narrow lane,
My geography, not so sharp,
So all green spaces in my life
I moulded into one.
Or could this be Wimbledon?
The walk is unmistakable:
From the station to the front gate,
As we draw closer, fee...