I Moan

I could gasp
Loudly,
Breath taken away by how much I love you;
The way you love me.
But I’ll probably moan about it instead,
Reliving you as you
Come inside my head.

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Love, Bites

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Oh little horsefly,
Summer lover of skin,
Your bites they can wound me,
But please, dig right in.

Feast while you can love,
While attraction remains,
My heart and my blood
Are reward for your pains.

Have all that you want,
Then vanish from sight,
Fly away quickly,
Until some other night

And these love bites, I’ll keep them
Though they hurt and are sore.
Your bites, they go deep dear;
Give me some more.

Ripple

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Lilies by Claud Monet, 1916

I want to hear your laughter,
The way its ripples extend out
Into shallow, glittering waves at sunrise
To where I swim naked amongst monet’s lilies,
Until I find myself in the centre,
Circled by circle after circle after never ending circle of
You

The joy
In this quiet moment is
More than anything I can believe possible

I will it to last,
To feel its gentle blue eyed lap against me whenever I swim and
I find I am not afraid to
Be here in this
Lake of mine, of
Yours, with its tangle of reed and hidden depths
That threaten to ensnare the legs
Of loveless bathers.
I know
You will keep me there
In the middle
With your warm wide circles
That could be arms
Or could be smiles
Or could just be.
And
Mine, is the heart that beats
At the centre of it all as
We dance and are
Spun and polished
Going dizzy as we go to that place
Where we can
Be the sunlight flashing on the water and
On soft silver skin
And span, sun spangled out,
Together.

Yellow

It’s the feeling of a yellow sofa,
A blue jumper in winter,
The barley, high in a summer field.
It’s the feeling of eating omelettes
Or strawberries, or chocolate
And listening to your beautiful voice as you sing in that tiny kitchen making tea
But didn’t know I was listening.
It’s the feeling of pub gardens,
Smoking fires and bears,
Wine that I drink whilst I drink you up and become giddy.
It is the feeling of dreams,
The ones I tell you
But more-so the ones I keep secret.
It is the feeling of waking up hoping to hear from you…

Or waking up knowing I’ll see you
And touch you.
It’s the feeling of poetry,
Music,
Art,
Icarus and his wings –
Ticking clocks,
Revolving planets
Universes,
Life, epiphanies
And other stuff and things…

It’s the feeling of you.

The feeling of something so great,
I’m insignificant.

Victoria

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Her name was as delicious as she was.
It would roll off your tongue like cream
Covered strawberries eaten in the Summer,
As you made love on red velvet picnic blankets,
Under the lemonade sun.

The Things I Wrote Yesterday

It was one of those days that meant poetry…

#1

The blind is almost closed
But you find your way in
As streamers of sunshine
That have arrived late
To a celebration that only you and I will attend.
Outside, clouds float, far off voices shout and life happens
Oblivious
To this room, this moment,
You,
Me.

#2

How I wish I was that workman
Sitting in his corrugated shed
On a cheap plastic chair drinking tea
And laughing with his mate,
No care,
Just waiting to build.

How I wish I was that workman
Sitting with you,
Laughing,
As we waited to build.

#3

By the end of the day I’d given up listening,
What was the point if it wasn’t your voice I could hear?
Faces dissolved in front of me until it was only you I could see
And when I thought, all thoughts became you:
Where were you?
How were you?
Were you thinking of me?

Later, on the train ride home,
The rhythm of train on track
Became your heart,
And the window, where I leant my head,
Became your shoulder.
And when I dozed, my day dreams were of you,
My only dream was you.