From Monday’s frown,

To Friday’s cheery sound,

Misha is on my merry mind.

With January’s snow

And August’s warm glow

Misha blooms a peony in my heart.

When war breaks,

The world shakes; But,

Misha is most kind.

Like a busy bee napping on petals,

Is drunk on pollen’s fuzzy love.

Misha is my other part....

With love and affection;

Dearest Evie.

The dream in which you leave me,

haunts deeper than able to mention.

If words count for tears I’d cry without you by my side,

count me a poet.

Your wildest wishes, so be it.

A shimmering moon pulling heartstrings as the tide.

For sickness and suffering are invalid,

as long as you’re by my ribs

I’ll build you in pyramids,

from nothing but stone and twigs.

...

Clean the dishes and mop the floors,

I’d be anything for you.

Feed the ducks and map out the moors,

I’d do anything for you.

Shovel the gutters and gut the drawers,

I’d clean anything for you.

Everyday down on all fours,

Just to please you....

Never again will I bare to see myself hung out on the washing line, folded in halves. Both apathetic, both tired.

Never will I let myself go so far that I end up pegged and rinsed, the dirt remaining on my nicotine skin.

It will happen again of course. It always does. I always run through the machine. Even if i’m okay, I’m still there.

I’m always on spin cycle....

Soft spotlit skin glows in a wee twirl with a gnarled brough

Brush back the buckling rosehip bush and elm branch

Scuffing up shavings of flesh from your forearm

You fear the warm, purple, dawning sun,

furthermore the whispering hedgerows

Through patterned gaps in the trees

you flinch at every harsh beat of sunbeam and heed its heat

having it’s hot way on the apples of your cheeks.

The sun is ...

And under the black moon

We breathe

Ins and outs of all inconsistencies traveling from skin to skin and back again

I’ll never know if I am meant to be here, if it is what we both truly want - Each other, or someone to feel....

I am a trinket on your shelf

An inanimate doll added to your collection

But I see you sleep, I too see you sneeze

Collecting your mucus on your bedside table in clumps.

We, the Worry-Dolls, Picture Books, Clay Tea-Pots and the odd nostalgic childhood momentos,

we conspire,

while your closing eyelids tire and oscillate timely each night.

Until that routine time, static is all you see from We.

...

Salt water floods my ears and I float in slumber,

Rising and falling parallel to the indecisive swell.

Allow me

Here...

Now I, solomnly sat upon this lifted ray of light

the ants accept me now as never before

steering clear from my body as to not shake me

they know i don’t allign, they sense my specialties shine

cross roads and dark matter

i never crossed that highway

so tell me why i mustn’t die.

uncle up there upon your impish cloud tell me.

if the day must never end, why can’t i chase the sun?

i see my leg...

I had this dumbbell-weight I lifted once.

To relieve my body of its sorry spine,

Hopeful ghosting, un-sent in increments,

Each day successfully passed without a response like a newly blown balloon added to my bucket’s handle,

I take one dose daily.

But every ghost became so somehow.

One week now,

I expected my much needed housekeys,

packaged en-closure.

Prolonged dissonance is a farewell.

All...