Old friend

Your hips jutted
more than mine did,
as you traced lines
from my bellybutton to my belt.

Spontaneous combustion of my core
when we used to sit
on you bed in silence,
with nothing to say,
words weren't needed.

You were my addiction:
a drug of flesh and blood,
lust and passion,
enveloped in cigarette smoke

I'll never forget you
gave me that gift...
A dangerous boy
that made me feel safe.

I saw you across the car park today
Old friend...
would you even know
my face in a crowd?

Movement in the air

A feathered symphony of floating.
Wish upon a breaking mind,
I'll lend you a piece,
and dare me to prove sanity.
Let them caress your soul
with wings of softest night;
the harshest notes of their ‘caw’
strike a melody in mine.
Winging their cursive on
an ever darkening sky, of feathered breasts
and unfettered floating

Wall flower

Often I find myself
standing somewhere at the back of a room
and watching you.
Just the way you move.

So I lay myself bare to you,
a blank canvas,
a landscape of emotion
just waiting to be painted

Because you just have this way,
of making me feel so small
and building me up.
But you just don’t see me
as you pass on by.

So I'll stand here and wait
and hope you don’t see my tears.

Soul mates

I could lose myself
in your gaze.
That bright blue stare
right down to my soul.
A twin in yours.
Our masks match,
a soft skin of clay
fixed with crooked smiles
and sparkling eyes.

 

And you watch her

Through hooded eyes,
while smoke trickles through her lips.
She looks like heaven
but nothing like an angel.
Your lady in red,
with lily skin and raven hair.
All a little surreal,
if you could just reach out
and touch her
you're sure she wouldn't be there.
Chemistry never was this fun
as each glance feels electric

Paint by numbers

Black, teal and purple
a splash of green
add a touch of white
and the spectrum is complete

Gliding, liquid silk
over hips and thighs.
Straps falling from shoulders
and bare collarbones, teasing.
Alluding to broken promises,
never intended to be kept

Before my eyes,
a rainforest scene in the dark,
of climbing vines
unmown grass and budding flowers.
A vibrant euphoria in polyester

In my dreams

I’d run and scream and not say a thing.
I’d spend days in silence,
not uttering a word
and never once hear my own name.

I’d bleed just for the hell of it,
just to see the bright red hit the ground,
and never once wipe it away.

I’d live naked in a cave behind the waterfall
with just my ghosts for company.
And at night I’d spend hours
entranced by the feel of my pelvis under my fingertips.

My body would be free and naught but my own,
as daily I would bathe in the pool that was my doorstep.

And under a full moon I would lie,
with one had in the water and watch my reflection,
muddied by a purpose long forgotten.

Content to be
perfectly out of control.