sheets revisited

The bed hasn’t been made for days.

There are ways,
I’m told, to shake the torpor from the sheets.
The window’s dew-wet. You’re shut tight with the unsaid.
Books lie open on the desk. The shadow cast
By a sole silhouette’s incomplete.

Against the pillow a corner of toast
Floats like a ghost, a memory of the dead.
Coffee grounds squat in their cups, without
A mouth to smile once they’re cleaned up.
There’s silence, silence at last.

Remember the relief,
When, washed-out with grief, you could sit with a clean sheet
At your desk? Remember the sound of his laugh
The time a full glass of wine stained your dress?
Recall your glance from pillow to page, asking which is best?

Yes, love keeps you warm at night. But work gets you up.
That frown you wear’s what allows you to stare
Down the space in your empty cup.
The cup was full when someone was there
But the page was always blank.

Now the room
Is full. Look! Open books, a bed unmade.
But the odour? Sigh. It’s rank.
Love and work have come and gone
But you’ve got me still. You’ve got me to thank.

morning song

The dawn slips in as we’re sleeping. Now
We wake to an awkward elbow of light,
It’s grey. Your yawn is the cat’s meow.
My touch recites the lessons of the night.

Your skin is a poem I’d like to learn.
I’m dazed, amazed. I let the toast burn
And the coffee go cold. You fold the sheets.
We talk, eat. The pause is the phrase we repeat.

First the flesh feast, the break fast. Then we leave
For home, class. A squeal of schoolgirls on the bus
Crank up the radio and then discuss
The merits of “Crazy In Love”.
My smile is the scar of sarcasm withheld.
But when we hold hands I think
We’re children ourselves.

evening walk

We’re watching leaves fall into the water.
I smile, thinking lifestyle has won over nature:
We’re wrapped and warm in scarves and each other,
Those leaves should’ve died by now.

The moon looms over Ikea. I see you
New in the blue light of all we won’t have
The cradles and kids toys, discarded for love;
The rooms where the cats of our conscience prowl.

We walk home together as the image fades,
Through the fragile beams stars and streetlights have made,
A sign says: The Fire Brigade Office has moved.
Beneath we read: Burn, fuckers –you’re screwed!
You ask if it’s wrong that you adore this.
So close, we kiss. My reply? Mmm. Mmm. No.
Yes.

between the sheets

Lovers, sweetly sleeping between the sheets,
Be warm, open; curled up like well-loved books
But separate as strangers on shadowed streets.
Exchange for honest glances reverent looks,
Remember what desire love completes:
The search for knowledge, facts outside of books.
Be proud, precise! Recite: eyes, lips, heart, hand,
Hands, hearts! Eyes, minds, mouths! Meet. And understand.

Learners, discreetly sleeping between the stacks,
Be calm, reflective; like windows behind blinds,
Which, through those small smudges, scratches & cracks,
Show us the world. Call: Seek, y’all! All shall find.
Remember why we become scheisters, quacks,
Spooks, quirks? To learn the limits of our minds,
To know the shapes of others in the night
To see our sleep eclipsed by a lifelong light.

the anatomy lesson

i placed my faith in an anatomy lesson
a crash course in curves from a kind christian
who speaks her mind with her eyes, and tries
never to lie while she's lying down, whose
thoughts break the pool of her face in a frown
whose logic is cool, whose mission's to please.

an atheist, i'm not easily impressed
by the shock and awe of water from whine
but the fact remains that her leg and mine
make a cute angle, a crucifixion:
an astute comment on our position
between the book and a hard place,

she gestures:
"this is my body, and this is my blood."
there's laughter, water; a baptism in love.

between the stacks

we've found a space between the stacks
where our texts can't follow us,
where we're formula-free.

a mime of eyes and lips assenting
to a discourse of our own inventing,
a fresh philosophy.

now, when i'm faced with some equation,
your whispered words bring consolation.
they sigh: ' the only conjugation

that matters is to be .'

pantoum for a lover

It’s hard to accept: we exist out of context
Alone and denuded of names, dates and times,
Fumbling feebly from one misfire to the next,
Wondering if others feel the same.

Alone and denuded of names, dates and times
I lovingly, covetously, picture your face,
Wondering if others feel the same,
Wholly comforted by what’s missing most.

I lovingly, covetously, picture your face,
Pale as fresh milk, affectionately creased. I’m
Wholly comforted by what’s missing most:
You in me and me in you, every time

Pale as fresh milk, affectionately creased, I’m
Fumbling feebly from one misfire to the next
You in me and me in you, every time
Alone and denuded. It’s hard to accept.

southbank night picnic

words don't fit easy
around this new joy. i guess
my mouth is busy

winter is coming for us...

We knew winter would come for us
It does for everyone else, after all:
Branches hang, grass stays unmussed, leaves fall.
Why did we think we’d feel it less?

Sunkissed, unkissed and unmissed, I set out
The light is bright but there's a chill,
Your eyes might water. Mine are in drought.
We're both surprised I notice still.

The bud of my affection's flowered,
The flower's shrivelled on the vine,
The vine has sagged, the fruit has soured.
My mouth tastes bitter. The sky is fine

Til from the sky, the rain breaks:
Winter is here. Can you tell?
The light's cold as the look I stole
When you said: We made a mistake.

artichoke heart ('porcelaine' pastiche)

when you messaged
during ‘sense & sense’
i knew something
was wrong. the last
love-of-your-life?

at least let
me sing along:
i’ve just been chucked,
so long and hard
by ms forevermore!

a commitment
to be stressed
-you’d met at least
three days before.

she was married
to a stockbroker
about to get divorced,
she needed time
to do it nice
(alimony
can't be forced.)

i shone inside
her pregnant glow
but her man
wanted her there…

shame she loves
herself best
in designer
maternity wear.

you were the kabana boy
to a trophy wife
fresh off the shelf
i hope someday
the girl you meet
will wear the gee herself...

with your twilight
love affairs,
and your
artichoke heart,
you're a crimson
gucci dress
waiting for
a corrida to start!

they say love is blind,
i wonder what you see
through those
puppydog eyes?

last spring
you called me up
said: i think
i’ve found the one!
my true love's
measured at a cute
angle with the sun.’

enter the-girl
-who-just-held-hands
then moved into your place
her girlfriend lives next door:
a spring-fling reverse
'will and grace'.

remember how
you said to me:
she wants to
take it slow.
when you know
nirvana
takes a few,
it’s the only
way to go…

with your twilight
love affairs,
and your
artichoke heart,
you're a crimson
gucci dress
waiting for
a corrida to start!

they say love is blind,
i wonder what you see
through those astro-
logical eyes?

let's just forget
the poet who couldn't
spell your name,
the dancer couldn't
spell at all
(but we know
that's not the same)

remember the
psychiatrist
who'd only touch
you fully dressed?
she diagnosed
you once for free:
an oedipal complex
long-suppressed.

in fact, i’d heard it all before
daddy screwed
your first night alone
with the sweetest
of your highschool heart
and your parents
still at home.

upstairs in your
romancing-room
you had candles,
you had style,
you had a loose
hinge on your door:
the football
blared through
all the while!

blocking it
with all your weight,
your swore off
girls for good,
until you met
the one, the great
who thought
she understood…

o with
your twilight
love affairs,
and your
artichoke heart,
you're a crimson
gucci dress
waiting for
a corrida to start!

they say love is blind
i wonder what you’d see
if you looked
with wide open ears?

time again
you played the romeo
offering up
your lips in prayer,
her eyes assented
moist and creased,
shining, full
of things to share.
star-crossed
to the last.
you danced the dance
and then played dead,
woke to a casting
call of cries:
she'd found someone
else to play instead.

you gasped to feel
that knife go in
overcome by your
own passion play
and still, the death
scene lingers on:
curse those fuckers
anyway…

you said: it’s twilight
for my love affairs
the compost
for my artichoke heart
the crimson gucci’s
ripped to shreds
across the horns
of some raging-bully- tart

but you suspect
it’s still your fault
so you try
to hide the salt
from your eyes
as you turn back
to the night.

see the skies bleed
with those
twilight love affairs!
feel them bruise,
those poor
artichoke hearts!
watch designers
get lost
among the tears
as another
bull & chain runs
from the cart...

whether cupid’s
blind or not
he won’t let
be forgot
that love
will break your heart

take it from me,
co-illiterate
of the skies:
what’s written’s
only written
there in light

see it how it bends
for suspicious
-pussy eyes?
& reads even
to those without
the sight?

they remind us:
better love
lest you become
like those
bodies above,
cold, distant
& alone.

maybe one day,
it’ll be me
at your end
of the phone
your bitter friend,
at last torn
from ‘pridge & prej.’

thinking: i'm sorry
i left you
on your own!
d’you think you
could reply to
this message?

if only my love were blind
i’d never have to find
the courage
to open my eyes…

she's bonkers for that bare bulb...

For J's birthday, February 2007

Hidden behind books, I turned eighteen:
A moth tightly cocooned in novels, stacked
Papers & that fluttering, fractured feeling;
Patiently waiting for my world to crack.
Yet I peeked through its open gash surprised,

Beholding long paths, tender arbours, bright
Days folding, fresh as flowers, into night;
A warmer world remade by widened eyes.
Yes, we are flailing on delicate wings,

Journeying under the moon’s follow-spot,
Articulating imperfect dreams &
Making shadows of the jokes flight forgot.
Each shadow clears. Each year I see more sky,
Staring star-crossed at each new place to fly.

ariel notes

For A. November 2005

They've reached that moment in the movie,
Their last 'will they or won't they?' scene
She stops him, seconds before he’s to leave,
She feels nervous and she feels unclean,
Then they kiss! And it’s soft and warm
And she’s hesitant to say:
‘It feels right’, and he's slow
To turn back to the night,
With his wonderment leading the way.

As she watches him receding,
A smile plays it's tune on her face,
Her eyes are wide and wet,
But she hasn't noticed yet,
Her heart's in a whole different place;
Maybe a cellar of home-made preserves,
Things well-loved and carefully stored,
And it’s raining outside
So there’s nothing left to hide;
No more secrets to be ignored.

She takes all the tops off her bottles
We press rewind on our tvs,
His calm eyes, his quick smile
Float before her like the ghosts
Of our favourite memories;
She loses herself among them,
Spinning until she’s a blur
But when she emerges, she sees herself
More clearly than she’s ever seen before.

The outside world carries on,
In its midst, she is perfectly still
She wipes away her tears
On the frayed sleeves of her fears,
Stripping them off until
She is naked, beneath a street lamp,
Bathed in a fluorescent light,
The buildings around her regain their shapes;
The moon smiles on a nude in the night.

She doesn’t try to cover herself
When she sees that he’s returned,
And he holds the kind of courage
And feigns the kind of calmness
That it takes many lifetimes to learn;
The kind of lifetimes that pass in a heartbeat,
Or the time that it takes for a kiss,
To ripple on out to the tips of your toes
While you’re cradling moments like this.

She holds him, like a suited child,
He leans deeper into her embrace
And their hearts are playing them
Like the symphony of tears,
That are finding their groove on each face,
In a strong wind,
They could lift each other up
And write ariel-notes in the sky,
While we play the movie back,
Windows open just a crack
In the hope that such love will come by.

waves

The waves were not waves
But curves that rested lightly
Above us, content.

We lie, hand in hand,
Shoulder to shoulder, fingers
Limp and eyes carefree.

I could stay forever
As flotsam waits to be found
Smoothed by the tide.

Time doesn’t hurry,
In fact it seems to stop, just
Briefly to watch us.

It suspends the waves
Above us, but in you I
Smell minerals, salt

And the ocean flows
Gently in your every breath;
I’m holding water.

The tide will go out,
And leave us sad, stinging, wet
But for now we are:

Together, lively,
Warm with optimism and bathed
With radiant promise

Curved against the shore.