I loved someone,
in the same way,
& for the same reason
I love the moon:
you don’t need to see it every day,
to know that you’ll see it again;
you can’t always see it, but
you know it’ll always be there…
months became years & those years
became the unnoticed mouldering kiss;
a distance turning stale,
old & cold as the
So lonely not knowing how to explain
until too late,
& strange to find how changed
the feeling is when found again;
the pain so far away
like the Moon.
With all the inevitability
& perfect frailty
final fallen leaf
the secret violence of our silence,
a distance so vast in a space so small.
Every word that once was shared
with their patterns obscured.
The summer is turning it’s back,
as the wind grows sharp teeth
greedily devouring the trees;
darker mornings, colder evenings.
Will the winter destroy the warmth we need,
or will we find a way to keep our dreams
There is still hope,
not every leaf will fall:
some trees are evergreen…
It isn’t the same, it
can never stay the same.
No grass seeds always ready to
raise their blades again, only
Slow or sudden,
willed or unbidden,
there is only change
& nothing else.
Habit & time,
being & repetition
build an image of difference
but there is only change;
the one constant
dressed as paradox:
there is only change,
& nothing else.
Mais c’est la machine en elle qui rêvait de caresses… -Sartre
Wrong words sometimes misheard
as the correct ones,
there are no correct words,
only those more or less sufficient.)
dream disguised as prophecies while
all prophets are despised
& each day either a sombre parade
gliding quietly by,
or screaming as it runs into the night.
Were these fiercely defended fantasies
created only to be destroyed?
Is that why
we still desire them?
How strange it is that the urge to leap when crossing
a bridge so rarely corresponds
to the balance
solidarity & isolation;
it seems in hindsight
that colour depends upon more than light:
if we close or open our eyes;
the strength of our sight; what
we choose to see,
we look away.
The city lights always invade the night:
I just want to fuck you in pure moonlight
or beneath a furious storm,
but the city forever prevents me.
I dream of our escape, but first
we must learn how to be caged
Only those who know how to truly love
know how to hate:
we wait for them to despise us,
a prophecy possibly more fulfilling
than anything they’ve offered us before…
Life has become an idea; vapour
rising from the surface of a shrinking
lake, never to return again.
Our first fuck was a clumsy mess,
but am I wrong to see the dignity
we’ve since spent building beginning to crumble?
Who’s the most humble, the pessimist
or the optimist, & is it naive
to believe that the only worthwhile thing
is to keep giving a shit
despite the odds?
‘cos I’m all in now; no backing out:
you’ve got everything I can give.
So it’s time to ride or die, to fight or hide;
to fucking decide & then fall,
if we have to,
on the hill where
we’ve chosen to demand the impossible
& laugh at the improbable.
The city lights conspiring to hide
the cold shimmer of starlight from our eyes;
walks together: a flower & it’s thorns,
sharing our thoughts,
secrets, fears & feelings,
each the other’s mirror
using silk to remove any marks that
prevented us from seeing clearly &
the resulting electrostatic charge
binding us together.
All of this
is a gift,
& every poem I give you
is an attempt to make amends
for being no more than
I can still taste the memory of those cold
when all I ever wanted
was to stay with the warmth of your body.
Or the Summer evenings when
you would rise, like a feline, from the bed
to describe the most perfect lines,
just by stretching your limbs,
& how the sunlight would slip
from a halo to fingertips
brushing against your skin.
"All lovers become liars in the end."
as we lay there, naked in the bed.
They refused to believe me,
& in that sweet moment of post-fuck repose,
I looked into their eyes
& realised they were right:
only some lovers become liars.
I just can't decide
if the lie will be theirs or mine.
Tu est le connard
tu sais le bon, mais
toujours choisis l’exception.
répétition du mal:
pourquoi les fausses decisions et
pourquoi de la destruction de toi?
Regarde la merde se déverser sur le sol
est-ce que tu voulais, est-ce que tu a besoin?
Il y a ton futur qui se mourant:
tu es apprécier de lui faire?