Monthly Archive: October 2014


To feel your breath
inside my mouth
warm and luxurious
would resurrect me
in ways we have not
seen as yet.

Your gentle hands
upon my body
smooth and leisurely
would reconstruct me
into something else

Your kiss upon
my shoulder blade
would cause a
supernova in my heat,
in my heart and
together we
could reinvent


All at once the breath went from me as i connected all of the occurrences back to you.
Your name.
Your touch.
Your fault.

It simply couldn’t have been mine.

I was simultaneously split into a million bemused shards and also wholer than I had been for some time. I remember at university during the heady days of social and substance exploration –

– the night I wandered away from the camp fire out in the bush where there was nothing but sky and stars and fire.
The sky turned white.
The stars burnt black.

It was a negative of myself there, far below and insignificant on earth but more positive than ever and it was then I realised that at once I was one and many like my
epiphany of today.

However corporate life and
responsibility over the decade had
beaten it out of me and then you reminded me and
bought it into my here and now.

And now
when I think back to that long ago girl who
stood beneath a snow white sky with stars burning black holes
in it’s veneer,
barefooted and wild haired
I no longer mourn the losing of her
but rejoice in her return.

What we are

Random acts of beauty,
Senseless wanton cheer,
Of what is gone, and what’s to be
in this the relentless, ruthless year.

Volcanic waves of wonder
and drowning depths of smiles.
Laughter booms like thunder
the sound travelling for miles.

Supernova-like explosions
of giggly, happy lust
Will live through distant echo
when all returns to dust.

Lightning forks of laughter
breaking close to us, and far.
of love and truth and kindness
is exactly what we are.


She’s in the doorway of the cheap motel bathroom, her mouth open with surprise, her eyes are bright and scared. Hesitant. She’s wearing her luxurious peach satin slip, the one that’s split all the way up her thigh. He knows that slip, and the silken smoothness of the thigh below it. He remembers the slip of his palm from her knee, to her thigh and further. At that moment he wants her. Wants her and hates her and loves her.

“Helen.” His voice breaks. He tries again. “Helen.”

“Oh god, Stan.” Her voice shakes and she is absurdly silhouetted by the bathroom light behind her. Beautiful and frightened, an adulterous angel. “What is this?”

“You know what it is, Helen”. He does not let indignation slide into his reply. His eyes drop to her left hand. There’s a faint imprint from her wedding rings there. He hasn’t worn his for ten years or more. For some reason, that makes him incredibly sad.

“Blame?” Angry tears are in her voice. She’s incredulous and she feels ridiculous. “Deflect and blame? Is that what you’re doing?”

“Helen, no. Just surprised.”

“And I’m not?” Her tears are falling silently now. Freely and silently. “Oh god, what are we doing?”

Silence. Then: “How many times?”

“What’s the point?” He says “Why does it matter?”

She interrupts him, shouting. “How. Many?”

“Four,” he says. “Four. Or five.” He doesn’t know why he adds ambiguity other than to wound her. She lets it slide and answers his return question before he can verbalise it.

“Not one.” She corrects herself. “This one.”

Helen retreats into the bathroom and he hears frantic packing. She’s back in the doorway, clothed now, bag on shoulder. She approaches him. He’s petrified in this second, before the inevitable occurs. Stopping in front of him, she takes his hand, opens it, kissing his palm. She places an object in it and closes his hand. He can feel the shape of two small golden rings in his hand, smells her anniversary perfume.

“Goodbye Stan.”

Her footsteps fade as she walks away.

Changing priorities

Let me remember when
we were new, you just a
pup in my hands and I an eager
Nowdays, you are too eager and
I not playful enough. For there
are bigger things (and not necessarily
larger than us) that require the focus of
us both.

And I love it
(for you are never far from my focus)

An ambition of sorts

A word.
A gesture.
A simple note.
Free as a bird.
No conjecture.
A favourite quote.

A freedom
Complete recognition.
A rage-soothing balm.
No inanity
A higher position.

A space of your own.
Or at least just to call it.
Treasures come from the heart
and not from the wallet.

Enabled to shine
or – rather –
outshine gem stones.
To use the word


To known you have flown.

To be generous without care
indulge in fierce debate.
Then go to bed sleeping
And wake up to fate.

To close the circle
Then not to hide it
but to grow with
the wanting
and then move
inside it.


Warm breath against my neck
and your hand
scribing lazy sigils
down my arm,
my waist,
my hip.

This is what makes it all worthwhile

This closeness that is so seductive so all encompassing.

I hold my breath, trying not to move, trying not to breathe at all
so that I
do not shatter this silence.

You sleep, yet you know I am here.

I feel the


of your thighs against the
back of my legs, the


of your belly against my back.

You murmur
and kiss my shoulder
in your sleep.

Open Road

Voluptuous coast curves hug the land.
We wander — wanton escapees
lost in blue expanses of sky.
Roads undulate before us
ribbony black and velvet,
swallowed soon by surrounding

We travel — mostly in silences
fuller and more complete
than chatter filled walls of sound.
Birds rise to greet use
torrential in the orange glow
of a tired day’s end.

Screeching warnings they
splinter the sky in ascension:
becoming shards of sky strewn glass
as dusk descends to shroud the
earth in the darkness of her womb.