Closer than this

We have never been closer than this.

Your flickering eyelashes brush my cheek. Your breath is warm and fragrant with wine.
Your heartbeat is gentle and certain in the hushed stillness.

I mistake it for my own.

Your hand glides over the muscle of my stomach, your fingers trace a path on my chest. You draw delicious, delicate, dangerous circles in the dark nest of my hair.

I caress your perfect face, your brave shoulders, your elegant neck. I half capture your gently pulsing throat between a long finger and thumb.

I can feel you smile in the dark.

Your body melts into mine.

We have never been closer than this.

Closer than skin.

Rebellion

She tries to resist.

She wants to resist.

Or at least she tells herself so.

But this is not an assault from outside. It is a mutiny from within.

A coup. A rising in her blood. An insurrection in her bones. The rebellion of her skin.

Her desire confronts her. Her hunger weakens her. Her yearning betrays her.

She instructs herself she will not fall. Yet she is falling.

She promises herself she will not submit. But her submission thrills her.

She pretends she is in control, but she has already laid down her arms.

She belongs to him. But she has not let herself know

Muse

Those winsome words
Tumble from your tongue,
Drip and drizzle
In languid, lyrical
Velvet veils.
The tantalising treacle,
Perfectly pouring
Caramelising, crystallising
Your beautiful breaths into
Delicious desire.

Sentences spill as smoke,
From lascivious lips,
Coiling and curling,
Erotically exhaled,
Inhaled to inherit
The poetic poison,
Fogging firing synapses
Scattering senses,
Taking luscious lungfuls
Of your addictive diction.

Your powerful pages are
Expertly etched,
Scrawled and scratched
With intent to inspire.
Ink with an inkling
Of soul and sin,
Illustrious, indelible,
Biting and bitten.
Marred and marked,
To return to, renewed.

You’re a beautiful, bound book,
Cased within canvas,
Vivacious and vibrant.
The tome a sweet testament
To artistry’s aspects.
Nascent knowledge,
Esoteric expertise
Graciously gifted
In the required reading
Of a venerable, velour volume.

Her Imagination

Her imagination keeps calling her.

She tries to put herself in the room.

The hush. A silence that crackles with electricity. A stillness that is full of movement. A quiet that is disturbed by the wild beating of her hungry heart.

His voice. Soft, deep, gentle, compelling. Hypnotic. His words. His instructions. His control. Seductive and certain.

His touch. Long fingers cool on her skin. Running through her hair. Languid yet definite. Gorgeous but dangerous. Pleasure yet pain. Undressing her. Peeling her defenses from her. Discovering every inch of her.

Revealing her soul. More naked than her body.

She tries to put herself beneath his hands.

Her imagination keeps betraying her.

Miss you

I will not miss you 

I will not miss you when clouds darken the sky and rain kisses my skin. 
When the fire burns bright in the hearth and the candles flicker their yearning ghosts upon the wall.

I will not miss you when sprouts break the soil with green, and silently buds the shivering trees. When pale hearts are made bold by the rising sap and cupid’s sweet festival.

I will not miss you when summer spreads itself before me in wild and glorious heat. 
When my skin feels the sun caressing it like a lover, like an angel, like a pretty girl.

I will not miss you when life reminds me of solemn promise stolen by sad circumstance. 
When the rain trickles down my cheeks and beneath my collar and hides my stupid tears.

I will not miss you

I will not miss you

I should not miss you

Maybe

I have her beauty hard-wired into me
I have known it forever.
My first fantasies were of her. 
She has never changed.
The same hair, eyes, mouth, chin, nose. 
The same height, weight, posture and stance. 
The same shoulders, breasts, hips and thighs.
The same mix of swagger and vulnerability, 
of shyness and chatter, 
of independence and submission,
of contemplation and fun
Her beauty is burned into my soul.
And I have found her
Once, twice, even three times.
Well, almost.
I keep looking. Although my time here is running out.

Perhaps one day ….

Memories

I will suffer this memory
Through countless,
sleepless,
endless nights.
Goodbye
hanging in every silence.
And me
Clinging on bravely
With my yearning fingertips
Seeking solace
In any smile.
And you
Your eyes
full of parting
And your lips
already bruised
with another man’s kiss

Disappointed, again

Dear Heart 

We cannot go on like this. I will not be ignored.

I have been watching you these last few weeks. You need me far more than you realise. I know you better than anyone else in the world. Without me in your life you are ill-disciplined. weak.and directionless. And you lose your pride and your nobility. You know you do.

This new thing has me shaking my head. What on earth do you think you are doing? Where do you think it is going? I shall tell you.

Nowhere.

Certainly she loves the poetry, the flattery, the adoration, the attention, the odd meal or two. They all do! But the girl isn’t really interested. You are the one doing all the work. When has she ever done anything other than respond politely? She has her own thing in her life and you, quite frankly, aren’t anything special.

Eventually, without me, you’ll get bored – you always do. I don’t care how lovely she is, how rare, and unique and how you are (sighing with derision) ‘such good friends’. It will all just get messy, believe me. Especially in the circumstances.

That is when you will come running back to me.

So bite the bullet now, make your excuses and walk away.

And you and I can go out and have ourselves some serious fun again. It has been a while.

Yours

Mind

Different

I am not a man who wastes time on regret

The corrosion of ‘could have’, ‘would have’, ‘should have’ will eat into you if you allow it.

The rueing of chances not taken, opportunities not grasped, possibilities not followed will wear you down.

It will ruin your nights as you relive key moments, review decisions, reconsider actions, replay situations over and over again.

It will grey your days with shadows of other paths, other routes, other plans, other lives you might have led.

It will make you doubt your judgement, question your instincts, be uncertain of your decisions.

It will leave a bitter taste in your mouth that will taint the shiny fruits of tomorrow.

It will linger like a ghost, always at the edge of your vision, making you think, imagine, wonder if … just if…

I am not a man who wastes time on regret.

But I wish it could have been different

With you

Disappointed

A little banter between my mind and heart

Dear Heart

This is not the first time that I have had cause to write.

I am disappointed in you.

I know that we sometimes don’t see eye to eye. It is inevitable given the difference in our perspectives. But usually I respect and, you will be surprised to read, even admire you. There is clearly something about hearts and flowers that resonates with women. I am honest enough to admit that I would not be nearly as compelling without your influence.

But recently you have gone beyond romantic. You have shown signs of becoming sentimental. That is unforgivable. It is a deeply unattractive trait and one which I have no desire to be associated. I have read somewhere that as women age they cry less, whereas men are compelled to shed tears more often. Believe me, tears are neither masculine nor attractive.

Much worse than that, in your recent dealings with women you have become embarrassing. Despite my efforts you have become weak, you have compromised, you have allowed your will – our will – to be bent or twisted. You are in danger of losing the dignity, credibility and gravitas that our experience and knowledge command.

I repeat. I am disappointed. I expect change.

Who we are depends upon it.

Yours

Mind

Tapestry

I will take a thousand threads of you
Strings of contact and conversation
Fibres of film and photograph
Strands of time and place
Skeins of smiles, sadness and skin
Ribbons of remembering

I will take a thousand threads of you
And weave a rich and vibrant
Bold and beautiful
Tapestry of love

Breathing Room

I crave a moment’s respite
From the cloying, suffocating grind
Of expectation, circumstance and fear.
There are breaths I’ve never taken,
Senses honed to death,
Dulled and dumbed by misuse.

Focus slips, the lamentable puzzle
Of how to pause, how to breathe,
Is cracked and fogged like old glass.
Unsolvable, it seems,
But for those brief and fleeting moments
When the oxygen seeps in.

Sometimes they’re hard-won
A chorus of snatched inhales
As glittering spots skate my eyes,
Exploding suns in untread galaxies,
And I know the vacuum will be
Quick to swaddle my lungs anew.

And sometimes they burst, unbidden
Through the smoke to resuscitate,
Refresh, with life’s saving kiss, and
I forget those days I was left alone,
To choke on the buttery air
Beneath a curdled sky.

Lock and key

And so they laughed at your expense—

Giggled when you tripped,
chuckled as you fell,
and applauded while you wept.

Still—there is nothing softer than your heart
except for your soul sad with tears.

And I shall find you when you are lost,
love you when you are lonely,
and lift your heart up in spirit so you know—

You will always have the key—

To mine.

Love?

As much as I care for you, about you,
It doesn't go past my need for self-preservation.
I am compelled to leave you,
Not because I can live without you,
But because I can’t pay the price of isolation you are asking for.
Letting go,
Of others I care about,
Of all that I built for myself until I met you,
Of the things I believe in, and
Of all that has been a part of who I Am,
Until Now, until I met you,
Too much of a price to pay, I think.
And the niggling doubt in my Mind
When you said or unsaid that
You Love me
But Not Love the people,
The ideas
And the life I lead that made me, Me,
The same ME you claim you fell in love with
Feels like a lie, don’t you think?

　
Maybe you are right.
Maybe I don’t love you enough to put you before Me.
Maybe I am too selfish to make you a priority before me.
Maybe the you I now know doesn’t inspire me,
To change myself for you,
Without your manipulation or coercion.
Maybe I love myself too much to need you,
The way you need me to need you.
And if that is true,
You should do yourself a fantastic favour,
Leave me alone and find someone,
Who can think past themselves,
Give themselves to you the way you want them to.
Hopefully, you’d remember to do the same for them.
For that is your definition of Love,
Not Mine.

Without You

You’re not here.
We’re bound by heartstrings,
Rent by geography.
Separate, not whole.

Without you here,
I pad around,
I slump, I slouch,
I forget how to stand.

We spent so long apart,
I forgot your laugh,
I lost your scent, and
Your every cadence.

Now every lost hour
Takes me back to when I
Would trade my oxygen for
One mere breath of you.

I crave your arms, your hips,
Your patience and your smile.
Your tenderness, your care,
Your ordinary, extraordinary everythings.

The dent in your pillow,
The crease in your chair,
The faint stain in the mug,
You haven’t used in days,

They all remind me of what I need,
And can’t have,
Until you come back
To me.

And I know,
Forever,
The only home I ever need
Is you.

The Geography of her

I will adore her
Even from a distance.
For she is beautiful, wild, elegant and independent.
I will discover her, I will explore her. I will chart her.
From the fragrant hair on her lovely head to the tips of her painted toes. 
I will know every inch of her.
I will study her. 
I will learn her. 
I will examine her.
In photograph, on video, through audio.
From opportunistic selfies and meticulously planned photos shoots. 
From impromptu captured moments and wonderfully contrived scenes. 
I will review the contents of her wardrobe. 
Her clothes, her footwear, her lingerie. 
I will dress her up and dress her down. 
I will strip her naked in a hundred ways and position her in a thousand poses. 
She will wear make up or be natural. 
She will be a fantasy angel or an everyday girl. 
She will be the dragon queen or the stranger in the streets .
I will know her hair, her eyes, her lips, her nose, her mouth, her skin, her piercings, her ink. 
I will know her arms, her hands, her legs, her belly, her throat.  Her thighs, her back.
She will walk for me, move for me, stretch for me, sigh for me, purr for me. 
She will dance as innocent as a school girl, as bold as a stage act, and as seductively as only a woman who knows she is utterly adored can dance.
And she will be adored. Every smile, every frown, every tear. 
Every bubble of laughter. 
Every bone, every muscle, every sinew, every nerve, every fibre, every pore. 
Every breath.
Every word she speaks or writes.
I will utterly adore her beauty, her body, and her thoughts.
And then, if and when we meet, I will have a map, a plan, a billion pixels of familiar, sensual, heavenly destinations.
An intimate study of a perfect creature. A geography of her.
And I will finally know the pure wonder of finally laying my fingers, my lips, my tongue upon her glorious, gorgeous terrain.
Filling her with my prose
Paradise delivered.
The virtual becoming real
My map of her complete
With an equator around the meridian to her core

Rebellion

I face rebellion
The words stall and stutter.
They sidle onto the page so stubbornly and sullenly. 
They shift and squirm and slip from my uncertain grasp.
They twist and turn and tangle themselves up in tortured, tedious, threadbare tales.
They distract me. 
They defy me. 
They disobey me.
I face rebellion
My words have made a stand.
The only shape
they will make
is you.

Why?

He is not so special
A barely competent conjuror of words.
A story-teller with a quiet history
A once almost-beautiful heart now lined by scars
A lover with perhaps half an instinct for what touches a woman.
A man as lost as those who find him.
He is not so special
‘So why,’
she asks herself,
‘does she want him?’

My Own Prisoner

I entered nothing
Nothing entered me
I'm but a shadow
Hovering over the idea of existence
Lackluster living
Day into day
Night into night
The future lies hidden
Blackened, dormant, and lost forever

Mundane and uneventful
Frozen while grimacing in pain
Numb from the lack of elation
To keep on breathing would be to strain

And as winter cascaded
A stress in my chest began to tighten
Without remorse it taken hold
This anguish seemingly never-ending

I entered nothing
Nothing entered me
I'm but an outline
Filled with nothing worth mentioning
A life of empty fun
Minute by minute
Hour by hour
Time just slips away in the end
Left distraught as I stop to pretend

Nomad

Betwixt and Between,
The Me who Thinks,
And the Me who Does,
Is an invisible Chasm,
My thoughts fail to cross.

Every sensible knowing,
My tongue picks up,
Are those that escape,
And seem to have,
Fallen through the Cracks,
Amidst few unguarded Neurons.

Most times
My thoughts walk up to the edge,
And Free Fall into that deep Ravine,
Never to be retrieved,
Leaving me in waiting,
For a Thought Pole ,
With a line, long enough to touch
The bottom of that Invisible Chasm. Still waiting
A Nomad in the Mind

Wordplay

While my Before met my After, my Now looked on. Now was Now Here with NoWhere to Go. Yet I stood with Before and with After completely oblivious of my Now which was NoWhere else but right Now-HERE.

Over the years I have learned to look with love at my NOW which was my Before, knowing it will soon be my After. In my Now, I am learning how to hold it with gentleness, to treasure and cherish it, as it lay between my Palms, and Slips of Time.

Politics

Its Democracy
All are free, to do and say
While minds are in jail.

Claim

They make me laugh
These boys
With their 50 Shades clichés,
their limited vocabulary,
their barely disguised uncertainty,
their ‘do it because I say’ mentality
their unlikely claim
to a suit.

They surely only thrill
the most naive
and undemanding
of girls…

Yet perhaps it is me
that is old-fashioned.
A remnant
from some distant past
 
One day soon
I shall write it all
as it was
And then hang up
forever
this  suit
and words.

Betrayal

She hesitated for the briefest of moments

An imperceptible beat. 
The sweep of a clock hand marking a second. 
The folding of a butterfly’s wings. 
The delayed first clap of applause at the end of a recital. 
The reluctant closing of a child’s eyes, surrendering to sleep.

The silence hung in the air between them as if frozen
Solid, tangible, impassable. 
She wanted to reach across it for his hand
or touch his cheek, or stroke his hair 
But the emptiness was too dense. 
An impassable barrier

He made the faintest movement with his head. 
His expression didn’t change. 
And yet something of him vanished from his face. 
But his features remained as immobile as mask. 
She could read nothing. 
His eyes were dead. 
Empty.

She was filled with longing for him. 
To be held as if she would never be released. 
To be hugged until everything was better.

It was the longing one has for something forever lost.

She could feel the tears rolling down her cheeks. 
Leaving sad, wet, first tracks for many more to follow.

She wanted to plead, to beg
to fall upon her knees and beseech him. 
Yet the awful finality of the moment paralysed her 
and made her mute.

He had known
from her pause
from that briefest of uncertainties
 what she had done.

He would never forgive her.

Without a word
he turned on his heel
and walked away.

He did not look back.

Broken Warrior

He screams
a distraught
battle cry
with tearless
eyes
Love again! Love again!
Let this heart
not die! With a saving kiss
be my breath of life

Embrace

Yet while I could never
love again
the body that has lain
in the arms of another,
I will remember
every single embrace
the touch of her perfect skin
on mine
forever.

Haiku of Life

Birth
Quiet, Stillness Pushing
As life softly rains, in Spring
Glows life anew.



 
Youth
 
Youth invincible
Rushes through summer of firsts
A Blink, to be gone.


 
Death

Eyes glow in wisdom
Leaves, leave their heaven above
Life gently exhales.

Not so much poetry

Ok – it helped.
I am still in a somewhat foul mood – still a bit angry
but nowhere near the dangerous and withering heat of anger I had before.

I just needed to get some of it off my chest
it was hard to breathe with that elephant sitting on me.
This is a bit new for me – this talking when I am angry instead of just letting it hurt me in silence.
The best part?
No poetry will come of it.
They will never have another word of poetry from me – for any reason.
I will only write for the people who value me.
They are teaching me to value myself.

Words don't speak

Pondering my words over and again
Wishing I could unspeak them
Again and again

Same old missteps
I stumble through life
Misspeaking aloud
My private thoughts

Perhaps that’s why I prefer to write
Never hitting the “save”
Till I get it right

So easy to correct any errors I make
Hit “erase” to take them away

Of Lovers and Rain

I have walked in the rain with a lover
I have felt her huddled up close to me, 
beneath the protection of my arm, 
as we skipped over puddles and sidestepped streams of water 
I have sheltered beneath shop and restaurant awnings with her 
as a torrential downpour temporarily flooded the gutters and drains. 
I have kissed her mouth as separate miniature tributaries beaded and joined on our faces.

I have raced hand in hand with her to find a dry, dripping space 
I have stood looking out to a wild sky with rain pouring and mixing with our laughter as we shouted our love into it.

I have run with her into the house utterly drenched and joyfully removed each others soaking clothes. Warming one another with the friction of skin on skin.

I have walked in the rain with a lover when the heavens opened above us and it didn’t matter.

Today I walked in the rain.

Alone.

And it just felt miserable, wet and cold.

Equal Differences

I write in rhythm 
you pen in rhyme 
my nouns proper 
your verbs wild 
yet when we touch 
our words are poems 
haikus, sonnets 
writing you and I