A Prayer dissected

Wings to fly, yet grounded.
The anchorage of my soul, gravitised to you.
The buildings and clouds climb above us.
Reaching up to god.
Trapped in this feeling, caught in the chaos of blinding resolution.
That glued my eyes open to the reality of it all.
Your feelings match the buildings so tall.
The reach and pull, and ascend away from me.
Into the space of another time.
Another life yet to be.
The weight of your world breaks my bones.
Splinters my soul and leaves me gasping for breath.
Split and scar the flesh to pull out the love.
Though there’s no need to cry.
China tears and crystal cries will only shatter in the echo,
of the words I spoke in pain, in dismantling the church of our hearts.
But keep that light on in our chapel.
The one that banishes the shadows, the things others know.
Those little pieces of our life mean more to me than those.
Let me devour them as you whisper in my ear.
‘You will again pray here.’

Searching

Look inside a different view.
A world spun on a wavering axis.
Shifting and shaking to a tectonic heartbeat.
Bring a different truth, I’ve heard so many.
Cracked from the ice and the frozen tongues.
Coughed up by devils and delicious ruin.
Was I allowed to change my mind?
Change my religion and make it fly?
Or cloak my thoughts and despairs.
Drown the reasoning in a bath of holy water.
I held my breath.
Waited for the manna to rise.
The milk and honey to seep out of my blood.
Out of my mind.
I caught the world, flying on the wings of a dove.
Into the eye of the storm.
Looking for a home. Looking for a hope.

Still running away

The rain had come as soon as she left the main path. She heard it now pattering on the leaves in the canopy above her. The sheltering forest where all was unsure and forbidden. She never saw it this way, this was always how it was put to her, and this is always how it was made to be. She ran along further, carving her own way through existence. The sun had yet to set, but the rain clouds had smothered the earth in that part of her little kingdom, and the forest now gleamed with a wet twilight.

She had caught herself only a couple of times, hesitant to step deeper within and away from all of what she knew and all that she resisted. Her feet sloshed now in the puddles that had formed on the forest floor. Bits of moss and time made her slip and stumble, but on she flew. Running away, running beyond. Looking for herself again.

She had left the hills and the ruins behind her, blinked them away in a heartbeat as her skin touched the dense air of the woodland and the smell of freshness. A return, a renewal of sorts; though she knew it was not to begin anything again. The sanctuary lay beyond this world now for her. She had seen the darkness, and tasted the decay of life. She had thought about her death time and again. Stored it away in small pockets of her world, only to find it ever present on her horizon. Popping out of the days and the jars she kept in her kitchen cupboards. No one knew of course, she had shuttled from each thought to another in the dizzying malaise of the worn down and woe-begotten. Left to sit and turn in the sun like an unloved pot plant on a window ledge. Her death had come each time in many colours, brilliant reds and blues that would drip down from the sky and swallow her. There was never any pain; that was how it was supposed to be. The ashen taste in her mouth told her it was coming, and all would be done. Pushing through the thicket now, she came to where she was meant to be.

Making her way into the clearing she, the forest heaved and silenced itself, as if waiting for the show to begin. The leaves parting like the curtains of a stage. She stepped out, like tiptoeing onto a dream, making her way to the clump in the middle of the clearing. Her eyes were thick now with water, her eyelashes shaking off the dew of a realisation. Cracking and tearing her way from the chrysalis. Tiny eyes shone out from the trees, the beasts joining her in to taste the end.

The small knife gleamed in the grey light which danced around the clearing, little sparks and souls prancing lyrically on the blade. The ash had begun to fill he mouth as the black sky above had begun to open. Her world was beginning to drown as she felt the skin prickle and the cool metal throb to the vein.

And then she stopped.

At her feet she saw the body, the clumped skin that lay before her like a rug at the end of a bed. She stood frozen, the rain trickling down her face as the sky now heaved and lightened the vista. The dream was begin to rumble, the humming underneath building like a train rumbling underground. She knew what it was before she touched that place, that skin and hair before her which had to be known. She knew already, but she was scared to see. Scared to reach in and feel her way through a thousand lives and know the truth.

Bending down she rolled the body over, the eyes shining back like she knew they world. Reflecting mirrors that caught that dancing light and shone back to her like the waves of the ocean. Her time flowed through her in an instant, a tidal spray of understanding washing over her. She stared at her own body, laying on that cold forest floor. Discovered only by herself and the eyes of the animals now which fidgeted and rustled around her. The blood had dried over her throat, the deep slash made a lifetime ago, yet the crimson stained her skin like a smashed cherry, licking at her neck. Her death had come a gone, many times before.

This was a moment she was discovering now, but it happened all the same each day. Every time she took that knife from the drawer. Each time she turned off her phone and closed the world away. Those moments at work when she wished to be away from everyone. Feeling alone in a crowd while they burned holes into her. Those were the times she died, when she came here to that forest clearing where the sky above swallowed her. These were the moments when her soul cried, and dripped down into that forest on the edge of her life, taking her further and further from god. Further from the light. Blurring her memory into a stain on the window of time.

Haunted hunter

A mournful tune to play as the bones buckle.
The hum inside your gums while the night lingers on.
What sound called to you, rose you from that grave of regret.
We sit and watch the world tip over, spun into a dizzying dervish and lost in the mind of God.
These darkened eyes that haunt you, casting casualties and consequence.
Do you leave them to turn to stone?
To honey up and glaze like the milky itch of remorse?
How heavy the skin of the idle.
Bleached into the alien grey like driftwood on a beach.
Turn on that apology and settle into an xstatic rhythm.
Shaken from the willows of the wilds. Shaking stars and dust from your mind.
The black swan which follows you, cries out for change.
Etiolated in the darkening world you occupy.
Be still its cries of the dying, the call for collapse.
For this flightless bird of paradise craves warmer climates.
And a world much brighter than our own.

My earth gives way

Crawled from the cobwebs of a translucent dream.
Stretched out across the fingers of the gods.
Held down and wrapped by you, suffocated in love.
You’re in the air as I breathe.
The god particle that explodes within.
A bigger bang than the galaxy around us has ever witnessed.
The seismic shift of you.
Burrowing deep into these lava bones.

Little red lie

Do you want to go higher?
Watch the burning battlements from up above?
Smile down upon those shores that glisten like the tears of Rama.
You tried to pull the world in, hold it close and deep within.
A monster holding onto a butterfly.
Lost in its tantric world of escape.
To call yourself God’s equal, left an oily taste in your mouth.
A sulphur of sorrow that seeped into your gums.
You closed your eyes and looked away when the pain came.
When those fortresses fell.
The day Atlantis crawled back into the sea.
Cross your fingers and tell them tales.
Scratch their backs with the fingers of fortune.
A deer in the headlights.
A lemming on the edge of the cliff.
Idolaters and wishful hearts all joined in the chorus and ring.
Sending songs up to Satan, asking him to pray.
Grounded the bibles into powder to pepper the young’s milk.
Forgetting they already suckle at your sanctomized teat.

Building bridges

The devils in the details, and the details try to lead.
But we are not for turning, and we are not for folding.
Gather the threads of hate and weave a patchwork of love.
From all the crazy chaos of our minds.
The rambling mess of the world defined.
Build the bridge, each stone in time.
Though the devils are easy targets, with a burning fire and arrogance.
We are the same behind our eyes.
We all bleed the same.
There’s no money on the other side but there’s sharks underneath.
So we stable with my brother, each sister now complete.
Building, fighting and freewheeling in our shared world.
A planet like a ball of string, kicked by the kitten of god.
Who isn’t inclined anymore to fix it!
In this together. Holding on.
Building bridges with those I hate, to get to a better place.

Into stars

Bury us where we fall.
Let the pillars of salt tumble, washed away in the monsoon rains.
Stain our souls with an oil of an age.
Squeezed from the ruby fruit swallowed by God.
Bones break and winds change.
Breathing a new time and vision to assemble.
Unpack the dreams that were lost to us.
Glow them out like phosphorus diamonds in our minds.
Let us turn and change in the weather.
Weathered too many storms and cracked by too many winters.
Lay down into the ivy and close the eyes of the young.
Speak tender words of softened touches and understanding.
Leave us to fade into time, our sorrow to crumble like stone.
Speak our names as we finally disappear.
And turn back to stardust

Crossfire

Wishing eyes could forget a pain so apparent.
Splitting the soul and the city apart.
Stumbling along a lonely corridor, with the lights turned off by god.
Do not be afraid to come together.
Our cells and blood mix to forge a unity of peace.
Underneath a heart that beats a rhythm of understanding.
A closed door and bolted window will not keep the house from burning.
Give me you hand in silence, or in a roar of prejudice.
Beat out, not the sinful or misunderstood from the skin.
Let a serum of forgiveness seep within.
Into your eyes that have cried bloody tears.
And veins pumped full of hate and fear.
To take a hand and love the scars.
Ones that have touched the essence of any god, is still divine.
And pray the world feels the same.
And within the ground ignite the spark.
That banishes pain and all the dark.

Park West and Bethany

Say yes to all.
Fade and fall, mistaken only by the river.
Washed through like summer rain and the thoughts told to make you go away.
Cashing and catching the lights of the big city.
Money in your pocket with children’s teeth.
Rattling.
Looking for a god you needed then, but not now.
Built up your good intentions like the skyscrapers around you.
Spires into your sky, piercing the blue heaven you stuck there with hope and sticky tape.
See this soul, from Jacksonville. Holding out their hand and cup for dollars and sense.
Shiver into those thoughts of home. Idaho Falls and the sound of honey.
Yellow spaceships that hover and take the scenic route back.
If you lived there, you’d be home soon.
Circling the city and the moon.
Transfiguring the trauma to trees to breathe a new air into your lungs.
Lungs holding on, yet crumbling into a Moses dream.
A body holding out for a prophecy.
Killing the kings and setting the soul aflame.
Wait now to be alone once more with god;
to sip from their coffee cup and slip into the copper lake of content.
Bronzed into eternity, never losing your shine.

Tears of the Gods

His heart, now the colour of his wife. Broke apart.
The urn smashed, scattering them both across the clouds.
As the volcanoes rumbled and the gods groaned.
Down they both came in the rains.
Licked up by the wood spirits and the humans below.
Pooling in the heart of the world, flecks of life;
and the cast down tears from Olympus.

Mountains

Mountains. As far as the eye can see.
Snow-capped pillars reaching to prick God’s finger.
Hue away the mountainside, take the flesh away from the monster.
Are we rocks if we separate, or still part of that hill?
That unmovable Olympus staining my life’s sky.
Mountains shift and quake when you tremble.
Pushing me further, higher and stronger.
Cutting off the air that warms and suffocates these lungs.
This horizon bleeds a new tomorrow.
Sinking into these weary bones of today.
I do not long for flat plains or tempered air.
This challenge of life hits hard where it needs to.
The frigid terrain, freezing the sweat and blood on my fingertips.
Making me feel each breath that squeezes out at altitude.
Forcing me to look back and see how far I’ve come.
Planting flags in view, no longer in quicksand.
Lofty and up high, as my ego sinks below.
Waiting to ring in the new day, thousands of feet above yesterday’s malaise.
Mountains. All around where this eye roams.
Sealing in nothing but change.

Home of the naïve

Disentangled child, cut from the spangled banner.
Speckled in manna, and the god they trust.
As unique as a snowflake.
Beyond the dawn break, of a new and troubled ice age.
Call me on your cell phone.
Buzzing in neon, and a blood point too high to tally.
Covert the freedom.
Sensibilities you need them, as the world cracks and crumbles below.
Oh say can you see?
Beyond all the misery.
There is a land open and free, still waiting for you.
Topple the gods.
In a system at odds, which crackles with such hellish flame.
Pledge allegiance to the drag of a drug in your veins.
Which splits the world and mottles your brain.
Until you die and are reborn again.
So proudly you exhale, a revolution of love.
And a change that cannot fail.
Splattered in white, red and blue.
Be strong. Be courageous. Be you.

A Place in the stars

(Not part of, but in conjunction with ‘Echoes in space’)

Lots of people were afraid. Rationale and irrational fears grew like ivy in the cluttered world he lived in. As Jerimiah grew up, he found fear was just a pat of life. His sister had always been afraid of spiders. Snakes too, though spiders were a more every day hazard, bringing out an alarming response from her no matter who was around. He never forgot the day she found one in her bed when she was going to sleep, the screams had echoed down into the street making the dogs in the neighbour’s yard bark. They had shared a bedroom in the old house then, out of necessity more than anything else. It wasn’t until he was five years old that he had a room of his own. Of course, this came with the collapse of his parent’s marriage and he would have traded in a second the large bedroom at his father’s house, for the pokey one he shared with his sister. At least that way they would still be together. But people, like marriages collapse. His sister departing only a year into his larger bedroom life, not from a spider attack, but from the leukaemia that had corroded her from the inside.

Jerimiah was afraid of one thing, and one thing only. He was afraid of time. How it snuck in on him and those he loved. Snatching away those things, and people he held dear. Turning, tumbling and changing his little world that he would want to keep secret and safe under a bell jar. He would look up into the night’s sky and see the stars blinkering above him. Fixed into position like reliable Christmas lights, always there like the season, waiting to bring joy. It wasn’t until he was much older that he learned the true nature of space. The twirling chaos that attacked the cosmos, with everything in flux. But for that six year boy within him still, he would always see safety and security in the stars. His friends that were always there like jewels in black cement.

Jerimiah though was understanding about people’s fears. He understood why his sister had been afraid of spiders. How her mind would run with a thousand possibilities of what could happen, and the deathly mist that surrounded them and the poisonousness possibilities. Much like he understood people’s fear of flying. He had met an old lady on a flight to Rome once before, sitting in the aisle seat next to him. She was so afraid, her white knuckles had gripped onto the armrest for the duration of the flight, her eyes closed as if in silent prayer to keep her aloft, and to land safely in the eternal city. He had wondered what she was so desperate to live for, what in her life was she so afraid of losing. One’s death being usually a horrible climax of pain and distress, but momentary. What was she so afraid of not completing? What had her life really been about?

He had sat there himself on that small plane, thousands of miles above the French Alps, watching the snow-capped peaks shimmering in the sun. If they were to descend; collapse in a fiery demise and be strewn in wreckage across the snowy landscape, what was he missing out on? What in his life was he left to accomplish or leave behind? He would be missed of course. His partner would be distraught, and tears would be shed. But life would go on, time would cover the hurt up in sand and silence. Changing once more the nature of things.

Time. His biggest enemy.

He had landed in Rome safe and sound, the flight not having crashed like many unfortunate others had. He had quit is job that very day, enjoying a nice little holiday there instead of the work he had come there to do.

If he had known he were to die at the age of thirty three, Jerimiah would probably not have done things much different than he had. He would most likely have avoided a lot more arguments. Those stupid back and forths with people over things that mean nothing to wider universe. He knew time was always against him, under his feet like an escalator he couldn’t stop or slow down. In this way, he lived a full life. He understood the preciousness and fragility of life. He squeezed his partner a bit more when they hugged and kissed. He meant it more when he said I love you. Perfection was not to be a part of his existence on earth, yet Jerimiah saw the bigger picture. It was all a blink in the eye of God, and he knew he had no time to waste.

When at thirty three, he reached the top of the escalator, he glanced over the side to see how far he’d come. It all looked so small and crushable from his vantage point. He was alone, but he wasn’t sad. He could see his friends glittering their celestial magic as diamonds across the inky black. Their luminosity radiant and strong like a million burning suns. And he took his place in the stars, content and happy that the clocks had finally stopped ticking.

Crawling out of a dream

My apologies please, I did not mean to interrupt.
Floating in my own dreams, a million miles above.
You tiptoe towards ascension, drinking in thoughts divine.
But fumbling in reality, and faith you think sublime.
I folded your bones in your sleep, cupped your tears as they fell.
Watched you swim in the shallowness, in pools of personal hell.
You want me to dream like you, and strip those trees bare.
And play forever with diamond sand, bowed deep in earthly prayer.
From vantage I watch the injured birds, in circles with broken wings.
Kept together by the glue of self, played on by other’s strings.
Chew over these observations, and golden words from God.
I apologise again once more, for the lesser things forgot.
So I cup you in my feathered hands, and wake you from the dream.
And do my best to understand, that things aren’t what they seem.
Vous êtes déjà Dieu, et déjà ce que vous connaissez.
Il est posé comme une graine immaculée, en attendant sa chance de grandir.

Gossamer touches

Feeling the space, breathing upon a windowpane of pleasure.
Your lips, only an exhale away.
Trapped in a falling dream on golden gossamer thread.
Sticking to me like a forgotten memory.
Lost in the centre of your eyes.
Rush warm sensation.
Mouths intertwined.
A lover’s reflection.
Strung up like dew in the morning light.
Melt me into sunshine with a touch of your skin.
Breathe from within.
Slipping out of my soul while you sleep.
To kneel before the creator, and thank him for your existence.
Here on earth. Here next to me.
Underneath my skin and painting pictures in my mind.
A masterpiece, dripped on a canvas threaded with our DNA.
The brush strokes of the age. The hand of God, guiding our bones.
As we tread through our museum of moments.
We, the only tourist in our time; seeking grand adventure.
Purposely getting lost.

(Half)Empty/Full

A Wounded heart, dying in decompression,
A heart that beats, formed by the cells of God.
This loneliness covers me like a crypt.
A quiet sanctuary for the seeker of stillness.
Blood on my hands and guilt through my bones.
A lesson learned in the guise of judgmental tones.
Tears run like a river of lost moments, damming me into distress.
Tears that rip and free the waves of elation, washing all over me.
Death.
Life.
A bitter end to a dying wounded bird.
Who soared higher than all the others in the sky.

Unconditional elation

Scary tales that suffocate. Around and around they incubate.
A seismic chorus and ring.
Drop your emotions like a wilting flower.
A deep dark blue that stains my veins.
Talk me into heaven. Slip me in hell.
The beautiful sinner within you dissolves in my mouth.
Suspension with such suspense. Blinking out words that irritate.
Scratch on my mind like an itch on the back of my throat.
Your inky blue soul, a rip tide of delight.
Encasing me once more in a silken cathedral of skin.
Let me pray.
On my knees.
Waiting for the holy water to come.

A linguistic form that can meaningfully be spoken in isolation

DSC_0018-01.jpeg

Just a quick announcement to say that my books are now available in good old fashioned paperback form. No longer must your be chained to your phone or kindle to be whisked away to some wonderful, and sometimes frightening, worlds.

To grab them and get them into your idle hands, please click here.
If you’re unsure of what lies beneath the pages, then visit the books section to read a bit more. If you have any questions or comments, i’d love to hear from you (connect). Or, if you have read any of my work, then please feel free to leave a review on amazon, as i’m sure you’re aware, it’s pretty useful.

Thank you, and to those who have bought any of my works in the past; I hope you enjoyed them and I appreciate your interest. I don’t take any of this for granted. There’s more coming very soon, so watch this space.

words-35

Submerged in aniconism

What fire within me did you spark?
Calling across the cosmos.
The face of you, dancing out of the shadows.
Like a veiled wonder.
Dripped in sacrament and androgyny.
There is no room for impartial taste.
I must feel the sweat and blood on my lips.
Know it is worth the effort.
Bow.
Pray
Repeat.
Wanting to know everything.
Shivering out Shiva and Buddha from my bones.
This place you speak of, my one; where is the lighted beginning? 
I touch this ground, feeling home.
Touch the sky in every moment that floats by.
These million moments waiting for me.
As I live forever in a state devoid of time and space.
That lonely place.
Dancing and spinning on God’s fingertips.

Sacred sinners

On a night like this, as the clouds cover the moon.
Or is it your hand reaching up to the sky?
Reaching towards heaven, trying to pull over the milky way.
Your feet stick into the mud of our circumstance.
Arms tarred and feathered like mine.
Your lips have known a thousand others.
Tasted a million other apples.
Lucifer in my hands, yet the Satan in my heart.
A name chained in irons and weighed down with history.
Yet to my eyes you are future, dipped in stars & the clouds you fell through.
They nailed me to the tree, they never knew love.
Letting me bleed out until the oil fell forth.
You cut me down and you hold me now.
Kissing the scars, wiping away the ink that burned.
I clip my wings and lay you in your my feathers and down.
Feeling my saliva sizzle on your skin.
Let us pull the soil over us and sleep forever in our own Eden.
Lucifer and Jesus, locked in eternity; or as long as the world rotates.
Orbiting the sun, and listening to the solar system.
Hiding from God.

An art of unknowing

Do not sleep. Just dream
Call my name, and count to fifty.
Slip into that small space between the bookshelf and god.
Go, and leave all that stuff upon me.
A poetry of indecision.
Boxed unimagined dreams.
Like my name scratched into the refrigerator.
A frigid corrosion of souls.
I took you inside me, as I took your name.
You banged my inner wall of doubt away.
Yet a partition grew, out of rocks and hewn history.
Mistrust and apathy.
Everything you offered, it all touched me so deep.
Knowing what I really needed.
Snatching it away like a jackdaw.
Now you leave me settling for any interruption.
Spinning on turning tables.
Knocking on answers, waiting to understand.

Prophet

Stepping into the church after so many years made him hesitant at first. He lingered in the doorway like an uninvited guest, hovering on the threshold. Some tourists excused themselves in broken English as they brushed passed him, entering the cool relief of the stone sanctuary away from the blistering hot sunshine outside. Holding his breath, he stepped inside; glancing quickly high up to the ceiling as if looking for God.

The church was quiet, despite the added tourists who had passed him and who were now inspecting one of the older tomb covers towards the rear of the nave. He turned in the other direction and made his own way towards the collection of remembrance candles which twinkled out from a small alcove. Despite the sunshine which streamed in through the stained glass windows, the small candles held their own air of magic and brilliance. Tiny twinkling eyes danced together in their own little rhythms. They were why he was here today, the only reason he would ever step inside a church.

He noticed the small donations box propped up next to the candles, the unlit ones lumped together in a small metal box like a collection of teeth.

‘20p per candle’

The sign suggested, though whether this was indeed a suggestive price or intended one he wasn’t sure, either way it didn’t matter. He dropped the £2 coin into the metal coffin and was saddened to hear its solitary ring out from below. Clearly not many people needed remembering today. He picked up a candle from the box and then turned suddenly to the sound of footsteps behind him.

“Good afternoon.”

The old man said, smiling at him as he came towards the stand where the candles were. He wore a trench coat that did not suit the day’s weather, and he carried a hat in his hand as which he held down at his side. He was dressed for November, not the glorious spring Elysium that covered the world outside the door.

“Afternoon.” He replied in return, smiling at him, though annoyed he would have to share his moment with someone else now.

“Lovely day isn’t it?”

The old man had stopped a few feet from him, and seemed eager to engage in a conversation. Though annoyed somewhat, he had no intention of being rude and instead smiled and replied to him.

“It is indeed, a little too warm for me though.”

“This little church provides a nice little oasis from the outside world I find.” The old man said.

He nodded in agreement.

“Yes it does. Sorry, did you need to get to the candles too?” he asked him, motioning out of the way to where the candles lay.

“No, thank you. Please carry on. I didn’t mean to disturb you too much.”

“No trouble. I was just lighting a candle for my mother. It’s her birthday today.”

“I see. I shall leave you to it then. Though I should say, we never truly know what is coming our way, and must always prepare for the worst; but hope for the best.” He said.

He looked at him a moment, unsure of what he meant.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, just being philosophical. Please, I shall leave you in peace. Enjoy your day.” The old man said, and he suddenly turned and walked away, his loud jacket echoing off the small stone walls as he departed down the church.

How odd, he thought. He watched him go, then turned back to the candles that lay before him. Only a few were still burning brightly, the others dying out and completing their mission and sending the prayers into the sky. He held the small candle by the base and stuck the wick into a bright burning flame. The wick inhaled quickly, bursting into life. He placed it away from the others on the rack, letting it glow in its own lonely beauty. He thought of his mother, who had died a year ago. He watched as the wax dribbled down the side and remembered her quiet tears when she’d heard she was going to die. The cancer that had lain within her which had accelerated with an ungodly speed, to prove salvation impossible. His mother, his rock; gone practically overnight.

He closed his eyes and prayed for her, thinking how devoted to god she was and knowing if anyone were to be in heaven, it would be her.

The tourists who had entered before him had found their way to where he was now. Their foreign tongues licking at his neck signalled him it was time to leave. He turned and left, making his way towards the door, dropping a pound coin in the donations box near the entrance; but never looking down the aisle towards the alter, or taking in the sad pictures of the saints that peppered the walls.

He pushed the huge doors open, shut since his entrance into the small church on St. Collin’s street, and stood just inside the doorway. Nothing divine was calling him or pulling him back. There was no need to sprinkle himself with holy water or skim the bibles in search for a hymn to ease his soul. He stood in the doorway like a kid on a dock, because it had just that second started to rain.

Lost in gravity

Touch the sky, feel it shake.
Trembling in your hands like fragility.
Sweet feathered blue expanse.
The planets collide and shatter, raining down on your skin.
I lick them up. Following the line up to your universe of lips.
This satellite orbiting you.
Feeling the cracks and crater within me that you foster.
Dipping my scars in ink.
Holding them forever in that back drop of the space between us.
Lost in the black void of the unknown.
And yet there is light, there are flickers from God.
The Darwinian emergence of the hope that crawls, like me towards you.
Wiping the DNA and moon dust across your face as I whisper;
I am just like you.