in this space with you,
skin on skin, touching.
tuck me under your wing,
this soft-cottoned night
these smudges of time
are beautiful nothing
- just the sight of you,
hair skewiff, star-fishing
All tagged bristol creatives
He is the turn of Autumn
He is the feel of a brown suede boot
laced up with folk songs and wine.
He holds all my laughter in little jars of pickled time.
His voice is the harbour where I moor my boat,
where footprints fan out in grains of sand.
Passion cuts things to pieces
Passion cuts things to pieces
like a shard of broken mirror
that warps a once soft reflection
into jagged shreds of light and skin.
Feel the hot flesh pulse
and flinch in momentary madness.
This transient touch
melts dignity like wax
and bleeds out restlessly
like a beacon of sordid wants.
Bite the lip of sensuality
and bury the questioning mind
under grappled skin and wet hopes
of subdued loneliness.
Tiredness is something worn on the head
Tiredness is something worn on the head,
the never-ending wrap
of selfish fog,
it renders you blind,
hangs, with limp hostility around the brain,
dampens the synapses,
mutes the mind.