Monthly Archives: April 2016

Pitch perfect. 


Fingers trace down back,

palms pressing and pulling in.

Skin now touching skin.



were nights, 

until darkness 

lost to light.

Now I reach 

for days

to close.

Having left many things, I want many things. 

Living through the conversations we never had. 


Clouds form,

break to scatter, 

and with the 

sorrow of 

forgotten things 

we are left standing

in shallow water.

Peeling paint

on plaster walls,

as with broken hearts  

the silence falls. 


without sound 

soon to follow,

in the hope 

to fill the hollow. 

My City

Now we know 

our colours 

by touch;

close your eyes

and keep 

them shut.