Postcards from Istanbul /8

“She was like a landscape you see from the train, and you want to stop just there.” – Graham Greene, ‘The Living Room”   What a difference a smile makes. How it shifts landscapes and ruins the topography of the heart. And how it does and undoes the shoelaces of our reserve, our restraint, and…

Postcards from Istanbul /7

“You are a colander, sometimes losing things. Sometimes what keeps you alive is a mystery.” – Aracelis Girmay   Another night, another room, in another hotel in a city so many thousands of miles away. In my life so often it occurs to me that the more I love, the further the object of my…

My body sends you letters

I miss you. From the rumble inside my gut I miss you. From the wince and gasping ache for your heat, I miss you. From between my tendons, from the twitch of my muscle, from the creak of my aging bones, I miss you. From the soft dark of my hot heart, the steady rise…

Postcards from Istanbul /3

“When I feel like being with her I almost prefer not being with her So as not to have to leave her afterwards.” – Fernando Pessoa My precious one, Today my heart has been with only you. I miss you more. All this beauty I see fades before the way your face glows in my…

Postcards from Istanbul /1

“What impels me to write you all the time? Before I can even turn around to look, from the unique destination, unique you understand me, unnameable and invisible, that bears your name and has no other face than your own, before I can even turn around for a question, at every moment the order to…

Book Review: Pages for You by Sylvia Brownrigg

Pages for You by Sylvia Brownrigg My rating: 4 of 5 stars A lover told me to read this. A lover just like Anne. Sophisticated. Unattainable. Impossibly beautiful. I desisted for a while. Months. Read it, she said. “Read it. You’re all over it.” Now I have read it and I understand why this book…

Proof

    The crevice of my ear still carries the hint of your breath, shoulders bear the weight of bruising Your grip is stencilled into flesh, yet fingertips trace a trajectory of the spine with unbearable lightness A forensic nightmare, my body the whistle-blower of surrendered intimacies and forbidden trespasses The feral scent of our…

Love like teeth

I don’t think it gets easier. I don’t think distances seem shorter with time, or that time frets less over the miles. The further you get the harder I fall. The one thing that does change is the sound. Everything is softer, and quieter. Maybe love breaks the sound barrier. Maybe love flies so low…

Let me tell you what my love is

My love is paint not yet dry. My love is colouring outside the lines. My love is paintbrush jar juice and 9B pencils. Blackest on black. My love is 30% extra for the same price. My love is the 9-item checkout line. My love is the cart with the wonky wheel that always picks you….

After the war

  Penelope, twenty years away from you I forget the little things. The toss of your head, the tumble of your breasts as you disrobe. I wake up with a fire in my belly and an ache in my loins. And always, always this perfect thirst. “I miss you,” you say. “I miss you, and…