The Hollows

Here, the uneasy nothingness of fingers intertwined,
there, the heavy evaporation of lips locked,
always the swinging oblivion of thoughts dreamed,
forever the towering ravage of feelings seduced —
surrounded by lightning and leaves spinning out of reach
we would never find cover if we started running.
Here, the dripping raindrops bursting into our blinded eyes
there, the haunting harmony of washed out worlds —
we have always been: we will never be.

Vermilion

They move lightly across the desert plane.
They have small clouds of sand dancing underneath their wings like carefree children
and ludic dust whirling in sunbeams around them.

Here, the good outweighs the bad tenfold,
rainbows kept in drops of water carried on their feathers
like dots of happiness layered over an unsuspecting embrace.

They move lightly across the desert plane.
They whisper their songs as if outsiders eavesdropping would take them away
and they sing them proudly into each other’s ears.

Here, the good outweighs the bad tenfold,
like sunbeams shining through clouds into drops of water
when they move lightly across the desert plane.

Stone Skipping

What was, now isn’t — what will be, not yet.
The taste of perishing cold on your lips and nothing
else. Uncomfortable comforting
laughter at the surrealism of ourselves.
This is too… not close enough.
I’m looking at the future through breathed upon glass,
a shadow on the other side of this
liminal space of slivered possibilities.
Perhaps in a hundred sunsets the glass will be clear
and this side the faded memory we’d like it to be.

Acceleration

There are splinters of conversations in my fingertips.
I try to pull them out, all I catch
is the dust of crumbled futures.
It’s a blue smile in the distance.
It’s a pair of cartoon character socks, books,
a Christmas ale bottle.

I see you smiling in pictures taken long after
we ended
(I’m still not sure we ever began)
and part of me rejoices
and part of me cries
(the second part is much larger).
You took part of me with you,
you left no part of you with me.

There are splinters of conversations in my fingertips.
I try to pull them out, all I catch
is the cinder of spent pasts.
It’s a favourite album on mute.
It’s a present still wrapped, candles,
a massage oil bottle.

I see you smiling in pictures taken long after
we ended
(I’m still not sure we ever began)
and part of me recjoices
and part of me cries
(both parts will eventually fade).
You took part of me with you,
you left no part of you with me.

Philophobia

An oddly-shaped melancholic heart hovers in the middle of the room
while somewhere else, not too far away, glass is breaking
to let life in, or take it away once and for all.
Strange cocktails they forgot to cover in chocolate
cost only a piece of your soul – another piece for a straw.

Alongside the rail tracks where they have no coffee
or even tea but nice human luxuries and an unknown airline
that’s the best one in the world. Walk eastwards
to the unwanted city and westwards to the homeless city.

Love is a lonely constant in life:
we get up one morning and nothing’s changed
except our eyes that look upon this world.
From there on further, farther,
where it all suddenly stops and rewinds.

To the ocean floor two miles out of Iceland,
we’ll hide deep inside. Glaring whites recall
the shades of grey donated by a poet long gone.
Princess is gone and there’s no Joy.

Swindon Railway Station

The railway station in Swindon, a large town midway between Cardiff and London.