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Time just taken
and granted a tint of perception – yours or mine or anybody else.
A connection.
Fine thread. Weaved in flesh
and thought and heart and
hate – dressed in flowers or fear or
heavy ache.
Just there, in the windows
behind the looking glass
Perfume – so sweet
you want to eat them
Lie awake at night and you scream them.
See them.
Yours to sew and live again
your secret stash
that we all keep.


Reminisce, Us.

You had light on your face and
squinted eyes
but still you saw me
through the shadows.

You took something magical
and planted it. Tended to it
as it sprouted and grew life.
It refuses to die.

Concentration stopped and
became my gift
and still
you played, that song that now is mine.

Do you remember?

My hair was messy, ruined
by the downpour that
attacked the windows
and you had a thin, green scarf
that would later burn my

I remember…

Your eyes were everywhere
as I worked that room.
Working; talking words and beats
and planning a slam.
Mine danced with them privately in a snatched second.

The air was so heavy. Like now.

You waited such a time
and I,
wracked with the anticipation
of us, felt dizzy.
I knew us even then
before you came to me.

The first page of our novel
was this, our story start.
Remaining its’ perfect self,
Untainted innocence
in my mind.

I’ll keep it
if I may.
Treasure it, even.
You see…
It’s my favourite part.