Hey I have a laptop again, a shiny new laptop! Wooh. 

You are Older than I ever Knew.

I wear bruises under my skin

an aching, waking reminder

of your limbs

on my limbs

-

blind to you for years

out of the allies your creep

a man of blooming fruit

(I was the rot in the vine)

-

I close my eyes to you

but you are pin-pricks in eyelids

a rehearsal of our names

crudely stitched in paper. 

The Violets are Wilting.

There is something of her

in the slant of 

my letters

a hint of what-once-was

shimmering (momentarily) in the

onyx of drying ink.

I have a picture of her 

picture

retouched with colour

her cheeks flush 

(my fathers mother, barely a child

standing at her feet)

I remember her older.

Soft faced

hiding money in sweet tins

she cut her clothes

crying ‘stranger’

We burned her with it. 

The Bronchial Catch. 

The Bronchial Catch. 

Lilacs.

The Lilac tree broke against the wind

Roots torn clean

From churning soil

A world tilted (tugged)

For spring I wanted one more blossom

-To press wax-petals into friends pages

(Years from now they’ll peal open

Once-purple petals now motes)

The pages stained (almost)

They’ll think of me, reading. 

I wanted a home

Wisteria creeping across its painted front

Blooming only for the worthy

(No easy openings, I am to be austere)

In the wake I’ll settle 

For easy lilacs, ever blooming

In short-sun-springs. 

Sweet and heady,

Light blooms across the street.