The hard nights

She had forgotten

the thud

of unwanted thoughts

and clattering

of forgotten memories

imprisoned wails

escape her lips

and a tear

finds it's path

over oily skin,

She regresses

Clutching hands

over her chest

foetal on

virtuous sheets

whispers

in sweet blackness

promise the end

encourage light

but

she can't see

further than

the end

of her nose.

Autumn leaves

You changed

Autumnal

so slowly

from an envious green

with life in your veins

to walking away

fleeting yellow

kicking leaves up

as though problems

could be lost

in the crisp gold

I didn't feel

the bitter cold

I didn't try to pull

my coat close

or twirl a scarf

around my neck

until the morning

my fingers turned blue

and the leaves

were sodden

with rain

and trodden

into cracks

in the pavement

reminding me,

under grey skies,

Autumn leaves.

1am

Sitting on a window ledge

In the early hours

An exhaust backfired

He watched the smoke spiral

Towards the

Sunset street lights

And wondered

About people

so disposable.

Drunk on memory

He shifted

On the edge of belief.

Concrete hope

was all that held him.

Strident laughter

cut through the silence

But he failed

to see the funny side.

Paper worlds

Like artists

On a clean sheet

Of stark white paper

we map the world

Small at first

dark outlines

pushing the pencil

deep markings

metallic trails

of the certain.

We branch out

into sketchier dreams

the swirls

of future plans

eraser marks

and fresh rubbings

the silver smudging

of change

on hands and wrists

Only when we think

It's all perfect,

that we have our eyes

on all the shadows

Will someone spill

Sunday morning tea

Staining it,

ageing it,

Then we colour over

the lines.

Moving on

Moving on,
Is like watching
the sun
rise high above
last nights clouds
smelling the rain
from the storm
that kept you up
until sunrise.
It's seeing the beauty
in the pink
and orange
and lavender haze.
It's deciding to
wake up early
to coffee
and the fresh pages
of an unopened book.
It's knowing
that today
might be the same
as the day before it
but smiling anyway
because
you were alive
to see
the blank canvas
of new
unknown
days.

Klein

There is no glamour

in the sad imprints

of your thighs

spread wide

licked with blue

and forced against

Klein's sheets.

There is no pride

in immortalising

Your mother's body

In midnight stains

Losing yourself

in the canvas

Breathless

The fumes leave you dizzy,

Sticky and exhilarated,

You lay back

Ready for the other side.

Park Mornings

Ignorance

became her friend

the night

of broken bones

her ally

as she sat

in the new hours

drinking wine

from a

green-necked bottle

her lips stained

with unstolen kisses

It was

most beautiful

to see the sunrise

Over an innocent day

And nothing lovelier

than the way

escape looked

in the shadows

under her eyes.