For a long time

I have been

The sea;


In the stubborn wind,

Caught in the sway of

My own chaos,

Angry at the world

That never sits


Here in the bed that holds me


I dream of


Of fingery flame

That boasts of having burnt

Everything on land, 

Leaving me curiously still

In the daydream

Of the heat. 

For a long time

I have been the sea, 


For the fire

You have to wet

With the lick of your lips. 



I am thinking about you.

And in this moment time slows

Inside my mind,

Letting everything in the parallax

Of running to catch thoughts of you.

I am thinking about you.

It is something the 16 year old heart-broken me

Wanted to give

The girl I fell in love with,

And here and now I find myself gathering

Those pieces of myself

That have become so entangled about you

That in the long run

I don’t see


Without you.

I am thinking about you,

Like the sailor

I have been tempting 

The oceans,

And today it has claimed me,

Succumbed to the design of my own seduction.

And for once,

Even gravity slows down here

Simply to let me linger

In the new seconds that

Live and die

Within the moment

I fall deeper in love with you.


Despair is like the hollow

In between the spaces

That turn


To men…


To fathers…

It was the moment

The world lay itself bare,

And in the fracture of youth

The bones fall


To the grave, 

And shed innocence 

For the prosperity of life. 


Was the realisation that 

For one thing to prosper, 

Another had to die. 

Weary is the head that wears the crown. 

What Breaking Hearts Listen To. 

It’s the little things I notice first…

The words

That begin to be


Like they were a river

Ploughing through rock

But then

The sun

Never had the patience

To watch it make holes

Through the heart of

The mountain.

They begin to age,

To morph into slow death,

A beginning of an end…

An emptiness,

& the vacancy is visible

Because it is the only place

The wind

Rubs through fast…

It is the little things I notice first,

The ones where I say

“I love you” 

With no “I love you back” 

Footprints on the Moon. 

Stagnation is the surrender of motion…

It is being given


And dropped in the ocean, 

Swirling and swarming clumsily

Without fins

To swim through

& gills

To breath with… 

It is how time tortures us 

With dreams, 

Showing us who we are… 

What we can be… 

Where we can go… 

And then handing us a noose

So we open our eyes


In bitter reality. 

Stagnation is like living in ruins, 

& watching other men make


On the moon. 


Beauty is a knife,

Edged with a blade

That knows

Nothing else

But going through things

That have


Squeezed into it.

Beauty, like the blade,

Is cruel in its taking:

Going through the heart

& claiming

What it wants

By blood & gore. 

& yet,

I stand here in front of you,


To let the knife in your eyes

Go through me… 

To feel the furthest end of

My heart

And split me open 

So you see


That I have to give,

& in my dying

I will welcome death

Through your beauty

That claimed me,


That my life rests

In the shrouded ways you look at me.

I suppose

I have always been yours.  

Counting to 3

Last time I had a crush on a girl

I hit the ground


Than I fell,

The collusion leaving only

Cold winds

To sting me awake

So I could


To flames that I wanted to 

Burn me

Before keeping me warm.

8 years later & here I am,

Heart at the ready,

Counting to 3

To take the to the air

And fall for you

Or the ground that keeps you


So the sun

Always meets

The petals in your eyes