Something sent him. Arriving, he must be received,
With grace, with gentle grace,
As gentle as the sound he makes,
The sound with which he touches my not yet sleeping soul.
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I feel the weight of your body,
all those memories bound,
tingling on your skin – slowly release.
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Soft-voiced creature
With eyes as pale as molten caramel
Or misty blue skies,
When will you be mine?
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I met Fate in the woods,
"Fancy seeing you here," I said
"Oh, please," she replied, "This was meant to be."
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quivering like a tense arrow,
I think I see a kestrel up on
longaford tor.
it is not
innate, this private familiar.
Read More![[Un-]Collared Doves](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5c609d0f77b903f8f5ddeef6/1681400533876-XGA71EP64U9ST3F18PMZ/unsplash-image-qscY0de8YUY.jpg)
every time Mum sets the seed
under the magnolia tree, she will
count the collared doves that used
to visit: one time we had four, but…
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Yes, it was dark.
No, I will not give you poetry.
I wore my headphones in one ear,
tripping down grassy slopes,
and back up much-too-wide steps.
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Like tarmac, thin layer of carbon on my tongue,
Lick it off and feel my cheeks crumble like sand.
Shiny shower gel bottles and a shrivelled bar of green hand soap.
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A dark blot on a molten giant begins this tale,
A story of struggle, conflict, and uprise I shall unveil,
These incandescent giants have bodies and workings which are beautifully unique,
Comprehending them in full is a truth we ought all to seek.
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