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.

Hot wa...

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?

T...

February 7, 2018

                    It’s funny

 how reassuring a hand can be.

A variably sized,

many fingered
 

           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...

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