Separated by Distinction

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       Today passed by a few moons ago, and November is flagged along the way,
shades of black, blue and white reflect neatly alongside the other
whilst feet touch the ground before eyes have even opened.
      Alongside which, magic is reality, impossible only what words have not yet been written
and spirits dance through skies, tugging clouds into whips of images,
so transient they are clouded from blinkered eyes, and I am locked in this separateness.

Muscles burn from stagnation,

breath shallow from holding my tongue,

hollow my spirit seems to your distinction,

but my soul’s only alive when the world deems it best to sleep.

'En Catimini'

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In the sun or under the moon, I care not what graces the skies

when my hands relish the heat of your burning skin,

before me a sculpture of muscle, flexed and primed

for me to move across the spectrum of senses with,

to find the slow, deep release of the energy

that keeps me alive and takes my breath

so I may die… again.

The Sketchbook of your Dreams

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There’s really no way you can escape yourself,

un-see what your eyes have seen,

every feeling you have felt is in you,

caused a reaction which influenced everything

from that moment on.

Feel the frisson, this transference of energies,

now you know why you did what you did, hell, do what you do,

but you cannot make it go away, erase the power point,

for as it takes from you, it drives your dreams,

the truth to know there’s a circle to avoid,

rather follow the tug, the invisible li(n)es in the stars…

Belief is the sketchbook of your dreams,

pain is the one who shows you the way.

The Greatest Illusion

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A witches brew of pictures flicker through mist thick as a curtain,

hovering, then it settles on you and you glisten, glow,

a light, a rainbow, a crystal ball of invitations I take delight and pleasure in,

write on with my fingers, my tongue, a private invitation for you, my own,

your lips the fire streaking through my blood, we burn from opposing sides towards the center chord.

Here I relapse, in this cloud, this cloud without weight,

before the other side pulls me down, back to where I observe from the fringes,

just a silent spectator filming the pictures

of the greatest illusion and most bountiful of spectacles, life!  Feed me.

Music made me do it

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False is the dusk that has fallen with the wet blanket of grey across every horizon,

cool is the touch of air, goose-bumps on my skin exposed to a silver shimmer,

hot is the breath feathering my neck, I'm blinded by your presence,

take hold of me and fill my soul with music and with your light.

I See Whispers

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…coils of blue weave through the wind,

feathers fall and fade to faintest grey,

warmth whispers in me, unravels, sweetly,

sing with the song and silently slip on by…