Oblong and oolong Orange leaves Whither in winter’s wake.
Speak them into existence And they will haunt the air. Ghouls or goals? Your tongue is a sharp thing, A pointed wand, and All words are magic, So think before you speak.
Coconut shells Glazed Glided in gold Given in goodbyes. Etched Their lacquered depths And chipped edges Reflect your clumsy hand Your dry humour. Somewhere Bundled and bound In the abyss called closet Are my letters. There Pages peppered My wit, the quick whip Of my tongue, temper flaring Deep, down, the dark depths Hidden Between…
Pylons, The honeybees of a developing city Over flowerbeds and bike racks Making way for city plots and Parking lots, and 40 storeys– Tales tales Which wake us in the Early morning Cracked concrete and reversal beeps. Playgrounds removed And replaced, Children displaced, Our rent rising As old homes fall.
Hopeless romantics Cling to connection Like baguettes and bike rides, or Late nights laying in the park– Gazing golly and glee– The stars tell stories To the eyes that gaze upon them.
A wife by now Someone’s by now Someone by now A life by now Something by now Somewhere by now. If not now, what now? –notes on existential dread
Two nights ago I looked through a telescope at Saturn, Jupiter and the Moon, And was horrified. My mom laughed on the phone as I Recanted the story. “How small and insignificant we are. I’m an ant to the Universe.” I awake from a bizarre space dream to a girl crying on my doorstep, her…
If I have no purpose, Or passion, No legacy to leave behind Let my sole intention be to be kind.
In heat– A slice of sunlight Creeps through the curtains, Marking the bed sheet before us. Hot, heavy Hand holding At dawn.
Early mornings, Late nights, Long days And Short episodes of love.