“Good morning, sunshine”

Silk underwear
discarded
like a growing mould against
cracked enamel bedpost.

The sun spills across
my bed as
the blinds cannot contain it
endeavour as they will to
console me,
to maintain this fragile
stillness.

The bed sheets are a
mess, skewed and twisted into
pale peaks and curls
hieroglyphs, symbols of a dead language.

Knees weak, I stand and
open the window a crack
but the unforgiving stench of
living, breathing bodies still
lingers obscenely.

Black coffee, cold.
Cloudy surface tainted only
by the fossilized pink mark
on porcelain rim.
This, too, is offensive, this
base mercy, this cruel pity.

 

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the woman
sits at her table
alone
ruddy cheek cupped in
damp palm
lips drawn back at the
corner
to expose raw
pink gums

the yellow dress
has slipped over her shoulder
revealing bronze
haggard skin

she gazes sightlessly
forefinger resting on the bridge of
a freckled nose

I fall in love
with the stranger but
stranger things have happened

wake

with the coming of the spring rains
the earth – once compact
– loosens her grip and
life obscene breaks trough.

The chestnut, maple, birch
unutterable cries of Hades’ guests.
Twisted, the branches spread, grow,
an unfurling of silent anguish
utter isolation

while branches seek warmth
endeavor to warn those
admiring Demeter’s garden

Pearl crocuses at daybreak
rotting leaves; Sparrow dips her
head in mourning.

April

ice in a glove
bluebells and cow parsley
dust in the corners of our eyes

early encroaching morning darkness
pregnant; an echo chamber

the trees were bare
shut out with finality
we took refuge in an
airless suspension

Upon a morning, a turn.
A heavy, cloying fragrance-
magnolia in bloom

arrogant, seductive, teasing
a terrible beauty.

As day gracefully took its leave
darkness would return, begging
on blended knees
a friend

transient solace.
The ecstatic blossoms never far
away, gratuitous
a strange vitality.

Sun spills through the window.
They drink their fill but we
hide in corners
speak in whispers with
eyes downcast