It was here we learnt the true nature of adults; of their inability to let children be. I still remember your face when you realised someone was spying through the hatch - I still remember your face and the way it paled blank and twisted as you were chastised for playing in … Continue reading Dolls in the attic
I watch and wonder how many wishes dandelion fairies hold in their feathered pockets - I watch and wonder as they drift, lift and fall in the air, on the wind, if they ever grow too heavy - I watch and wonder what happens to the wishes, the love stories and winning lottery … Continue reading Dandelion fairies
She breathes in and mellows out, counts to ten before beginning again, touches her toes and bunny wiggles her nose trying to shift the memories which have let themselves in, to test her poise, her balance and power, to laud over words she used to believe for hours. She breathes in and mellows out, … Continue reading Rain, rain, go away
A lazy beginning to the day, a warm breeze Sunday in which we combine our bodies and honey gold souls to the sounds of birds in the trees before a cup of tea, a shower of kisses and a walk into the village - a visit to the cemetery to read the unforgotten names and … Continue reading Honey gold Sundays
You say the word "perfect" as if it is new, just discovered in papyrus scroll having been buried in the lost sands of Alexandria for a millennia. The adjective rolls loose from your tongue, your ever-inviting lips and greets every inch of me - my palms, fingertips, calves, thighs, breasts and the dewy skin beneath … Continue reading “Perfect”
These memories taste cold, sickly sweet and thick; opaque like red wine, muted and sharp - daggers in the drink, in smiles, in falsely promised next times - stained purple teeth, the deep rivulets in your lips, a grimace as you sup and sip on this feast of ruined nostalgia - memories laid out to … Continue reading Memories do not keep
There will always be this door between us; rattling in the wind yet the hinges are too stiff for it ever to open. Within the wood grain his face is etched - the man who loves us both, who had to lose me in order to have you. In his face we see two different … Continue reading Between us
They say 'What do you call a penguin in the desert?' They say 'Lost.' I say 'What do you call a heart which always breaks?' I say 'Mine.' But apparently, it's not the same. The wandering penguin and my ever wandering heart, are not the same. He walks into dunes of … Continue reading Lost and Mine
heartache it is a warm summer's day or a bitter winter's eve a visitor - the new friend the old friend with darned holes in your friendship to accompany a bar of chocolate or the tears you've spent to puncture an awkward silence and fill it with whistling steam … Continue reading 10 reasons for tea
