A haiku for all those tissues I have sneezed into this week. Enjoy!
On the days that I do not love you my love looks nothing like love. In fact, it looks much like not quite the opposite but an in between state: A half-working key, an almost soundless note pressed against my finger-tips.
Mint tea in clean mug,warm and small feelings of joy,which I hold onto.
Sometimes I like to compare myself to an old man. Note how I did not say old woman – for old women have a special quality to them which old men do not: you can see it if you brush away the dust, buried inside them is a treasure chest where pearls of wisdom remain.Continue reading “Old Man”
Love, my dearest friend,listen to my laboured breaths,how sweet do they sound, against your chest.
I have noted in these past few nights,that Confidence is not found in the usual places;it is not found inside another personbetween cracks and small openings,between the rust and rubble ofsomeone’s dampened heart,or broken art,but rather amongLs: leather, lipstick and lingerie — and no, I don’t list these because I am an object,but rather becauseContinue reading “the L illusion”
Name here, Sign here, sigh there, Wear and tear of the town, causes tearing of hair, baby cries — — closed eyes. Lullabies sung, Tumbling now that standing up has come, Standing on your own two cold feet, good bye — –I smell, the Muffin Man, hungry as I run to Drury Lane, a girlContinue reading “Drury Lane”