for my sister

Speaking
In tongue tied tongues
Dialects from distant memories
Barely whispered through millennia.

I didn’t know how to remember what
we learned, un learned, then
re-learned, and yet
question still.

Older than time, older, than
I
we crossed many
moon lit rivers.
We were running. Always running –
Were we running towards now?

For I can almost remember what we,
forgot to forget, it’s been
made manifest by the magic of this,
life,
that we are left living -
in new flesh
still chasing spirits and
watching stars.
Called by new names
yet still the same,
for your hand still fits into mine,
and the moon still guides us home

We are not friends

We are not friends.
I doubt if we, have ever been
or could be,
now.

My love has turned cold
all ice and gin flowing through my veins
soon made warm by
another.

Time melts away rose coloured reason
illuminating drops of truth.
that let me see, without regret

How illusions made warm enough bedfellows.
How seemingly honest smiles, masked
a selfish heart.
so careless with mine and has willingly
forgotten me.
Forgotten, we.

We are not friends.
I carve this into wintry caves
so one summer day could dissipate
the iceberg of hate
built by memories that construct such harsh descriptions
of love.

Your garden

Each time i bump into
your rose,
joy each morning. I am tickled pink
sweet and heady,
heavy with
surprise at the familiar fragrance
of hope.

small stone - new moon

I point,
up
our awkward eyes follow to something
almost perfect
illuminates a path from
respective yesterdays to
a collective tomorrow
potential tomorrow
I, surprisingly would like wait out
the next new moon
sat next to you

small stone - bad habits

You are delicious
light blue in dusk
swirls trailing from your lips
dance around to catch my
lingering eyes
which trace the path of man made clouds
now silver
still swirling
from the tip of burning cylinders
up my willing nose
i breathe too deep,
you
call me, to once more
do bad things-
but bad feels good sometimes.

small stones - i miss

i miss
the clicking of keys next to the
tapping of
finger tips.
upright in beds till late,
being shaken awake,
just to push to the end
of
one more
page,
track,
sample,
sentence.
Genius sat between us
smiling at
her magic,
made manifest in us.

small stones - one of those days

It's one of those days.
bright blue
electric white pillows
emerald green reaching up to meet someone.
anyone.
the heavens know,
that somewhere,
is cause for joy-
so they have dressed accordingly.