The roses on your palm

feel like painted figurines

draping from your veins

So blue with hopes crusted over

I’m waiting for the dream light

to melt them

Or freeze like tangible ice-lollies

to lick or glide between my lips,

while a song is sung

between you and me.

So beautiful, this life

between you and me.

4/08

To My Painter

So vaguely transparent

those canvases you draw on,

How do they absorb the sense

of your hand

better than I,

breathing at the touch of

your palm-lines.

The rolling colour, creates

pathways,

You never imagined.

but I, caught in the crease of your

brows,

have seen them unraveling,

like streams of light

on festive nights.

feb 08

I had not considered

the vastness of your imagination

Could feed me, thus…

to imagine you laughing

caressing the

soles of my feet.

Summer and Winter

1.

Simmering whimsically,

the bubbles pop and dance

like rainbows against the summer sky—

stunned, you watch

as though you exist

as them—

I wish the bare trees would flower soon,

I would pluck the blossoms

and place them on your cheeks,

watch you blush…

2.

Sickle breasted hillocks,

merge and expand—

like you breathing , on a dark winter night

Mornings quiver with excitement,

like fresh napkins hung out to dry

in the cold January breeze.

Seizing a clump of wet earth,

I watched her regain her

feeling

for the grimy , the sodden,

the textures of disgust.