Loving Loss

Love is the flame that burns as beautiful as it does cruel

it’s a throng of clichés re-sung
by different lips and different tongues
with different meanings, moaned wetly in bedrooms
or whispered softly in our ears, ‘I love you’ said
as much in love as in loss, words made up by people
who take our breaths away and leave
us suffocating
it’s a heart hammering
behind bars that won’t let it quit,
feet running after those who already
have, beds drenched with sweat from
lovers or tears from love lost, pillows
thrown sarcastically at bad jokes
or hugged out of shape trying
to put her back where she used to be,
was supposed to be but no longer would
be. Scarring the map of your memories
of places you’d seen with him and
places you could never go again
and the realisation that love trembles
just as hard on the lips of the first
kiss as the last

You pour gasoline over your head
step into the fire
and burn yourself alive
in pain, in passion

Over and over


How Many More

The curtain lifts and falls
as the breath of autumn
slips between the cracks
and wakes me to you.
The new orange sun
warms our quiet nest
and catches on your
freckled cheeks. The memory
of summer dances on
the walls in shades of
orange, the sheer curtains
casting faint shadows that shiver
in the soft wind that has entered
our space and stirred our sleep.
I rest my hand upon your
breast and feel the rise and fall of
your heart that follows the wind.

Yet I wander back through my
mind to darker parts of my
life where the wind didn’t seem
so safe. Where streetlights glared
through water-stained blinds and
striped the bed and walls in black
bars. My hair dragged out to its full
length across cotton sheets whilst his
fingers beneath gently stroked at the
bones that poked through the skin
at my hips. The shadows of my prison
kept his face hidden, but I knew he
watched me with unfeeling eyes
that made my stomach churn. He did
love me, I believed, just not carefully

You roll to one side. Break my
thoughts. Pull me away from
then and deeper into you. My
hand finds the groove from
your chest to your cheek and
I trace the outline of your
lips, feel the stubble breaking
through the skin. You kissed
the tips of my fingers.
I trained my eye on the gentle-
ness of your touch, found it
differed from his, taught me the
love I was supposed to have.
I moved my mouth to yours and
tasted your last cigarette on your
tongue; I lapped up its strangeness.
Beneath these sheets my body found
yours and invited in the comfort
of your own and as we found our
pace, I wondered how many more
were like you.

There was too much haste in his
softness, too much bitterness in his
patience, too much terror in his
silence. His mouth fell too hard against
my throat, too starved of everything
that lay beneath my skin and left
teeth marks too deep in my flesh
to be loving. I was too much his.
His hands closed gently round my
waist until his fingers met behind my
back, kissing my wincing face. And
I let my body go slack. I felt alone with
him and he could feel like the unseen
monster that had picked the lock
to my home and let himself inside.
And I wondered, how many more
were like him.

Where she falls

My mother breathes, stands, falls,
and through dull clouds of winter breath she recalls,
her life on the cliff between four morbid walls.
With the wind licking at her skin like artic fire,
her voice calls out, ‘this was my only desire.
Up above, back on that cliff’s edge, father stayed
his hair and eyes as black as berries, he prayed,
“let the rocks not tear her frame nor the sea wash her away
or with this needle I will stitch her up and here she will stay.”
But I’m relieved to say that beneath the white waves was where my mother lay.


If the grip of cool crisp wine
couldn’t move you from my tongue,
or the tang of yellow primrose
couldn’t drag you from my hair
or the cruel touch of an old love
couldn’t lift you from my skin.
Then nothing ever will.

Aš tave myliu

I remember
when white floorboards creaked beneath our anxious toes
and filled the space between I and you. Though the dark of the night hid
your face from my eye, l heard ‘good-night’ linger on your lips and the
stair above the landing moan under your foot. On your wrist,
a watch was counting our seconds.

I remember
when the new year saw it’s first blizzard and the warmth of our skin made
the snow melt and drip from our lashes like glass tears. We Shiver aboard the
U2, stomp our sopping boots, and entwine our sodden limbs. In silence we
watch the world pass us in a black and white blur. On your wrist,
a watch was counting our seconds.

I remember
When lightening split open the black sky and from the wound bled rain
that penetrated the dirt. We opened the windows and let it in, and from my bed
we watched the sky make violent love to the earth. I laid my ear against your
chest and heard your heart as clear as the thunder. On your wrist,
a watch was counting our seconds.

I remember
when I felt most alone you would hold my bruised bones, my beaten
body in the palms of your hands, and saw I was broken yet held me closer.
Through blinding snow and sadistic lightening, in rooms of darkness
where we merged into one, you took my pain as your own.
Whilst on your wrist, a watch was counting our seconds,
“Aš tave myliu.”

2 am

It’s 2am. Exactly.

Beside me, I hear the tick tick ticking of the wall clock caught counting down.

It’s 2:07am. Exactly.

Above me, I see the sea of still navy lit with lanterns owned by lost sailors pinpricking the darkness, never to find land.

Its 2:13am. Exactly.

Behind me is a child screaming for attention mum had for others but never for her. Her head on mum’s lap, mum’s fingers in her hair. Her heart is full of tears, but for 20 minutes, happy.

It’s 2:20am. Exactly.

In front of me is opportunity disguised as a sea of tears and lost sailors, comforted by mum’s fingers. And the clock





i am an alien
in my own consciousness
exploring the ways in which
my body and mind works as
individuals and together,
challenging the fears that lie
light years between them
a spaceship lost in darkness
drifting towards the sun