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.