Moon
crescent cut
from taut silken twilight
colour bleeding upwards
cradling the wax negative
of light slipping beneath
the fences of night

Still
before birdsong
and the sound of day
pouring molten over
the eastern shore

I sit
chilled quiet
eyes closed
the feeling of you
immediate
hands reach
into grainy silence
as though you knew
and clasped

There is nothing
just wind of space
my heart sinuous beating
an electrical storm within

Leave a comment:

  •  

Listen

Connect

Join the email list!

Find Me