Baby, you tweet so good.

On the 7th of March, Kathleen tweeted one of her brain-bendingly profound, part-irreverent, part-lush thoughts that began with the word, “Baby…” Something got me. To speak of such tenderness with the flippant sexiness of a term like, “Baby,” just struck the arousal cord in me. It’s the G spot of the brain. At once, I was…

You should smell me today.

I smell of fruit and the slow returning sun of springtime. I smell of tangy sweet-sour-sweetness; the tartness of a known flirtation between intimate friends. The heady musk of lovers’ bodies. I smell of the back of the neck of a sleeping child. I smell of Morocco rose dates with almond centres. Of mango slivers and cold yoghurt with…

AM/ PM

I will dream of you. And look for you on the boat. And I will come find you, find you and bring you to me, and kiss you hard and pull away to see flames fall away from your lips. And then I will wake up and look for you, barefoot and with one eye…

What can you miss in five minutes? Everything.

12:30:01 – I have missed you by five minutes. 12:30:25 – You can miss a lot in five minutes. Trains. Planes. Buses. The love of your life, even, because she has left the cafe only moments before you arrived. 12:30:38 – In these five minutes I just miss you. 12:31:09 – Times like these, the…

Once, I was a glass of beer

This is what you do. Strike a matchstick and leave behind an inferno. I would hesitate touch you now. I would burn.   Take me with you everywhere today. Keep me, high on the inside of your thigh. I am a glass of beer balanced between your legs and you cannot spill a drop. You know it well;…

My beloved is a flower garden

~ “Knees for me. Leaves for me… …I will bend colours for you: I have planted whole avenues of trees to worship you in.” – Kathleen Mcleod – ~ ~ Dervish of my heart, poet laureate of the mundane, I love how you make me implode. Each time I go inside you there is a…

A mess of me. A mess of you.

“I promise to kiss every mole that has taken a space on your body, lose count and start again.” “Tell me you mean that.” “I do.”   I do not know how you so effortlessly unravel the core of my vulnerability like a ribbon. Now I search for you in the middle of the night,…

Synesthesia

You are beyond your haunting eyes. Me, my words are my eyes.   The color of my “Come home” A deep amber flecked with phosphorescence   The color of your “God, yes.” Purple with streaks of green.   My eyes think of the taste of your name Cayenne dusted mangoes surrounded by twilight at the edge…

Things I began to tell you

~ I want to show you the abandoned house, the salt pans that stretch for miles, the shamelessness of a hibiscus, the magnesium sunset of home. When the pull for you becomes so great I run my hand through my hair until there are sparks, and I know you have come across the thousand one…