Late Autumn

November is littered with unfinished poems
– yet a poem is never complete, only abandoned
we send flowers when death arrives
– as if the earth won’t eat those too
what do i do when i feel abandoned
– bury myself and hope to flower 

Wavy

      when I do
I love like a south east Asian tsunami.
I don’t know how else to be,
I could try being a steady wave
a love that is lapped
                       onto shore
and stored in seashells…

  what kind of love is that?
not mine.
                   not mine.
I will always be
       white capped
       hundred feet
           waves.

The girl in flat 12

It's been months
and I still have your dimples dented round my mind
like a steel door round a tree.

with you
I felt five and fifty at the same time
like pooping my pants and holding your hand.
Like a pirate who'd stumbled on the spot
marked X & landed head first in a well of pearls.
God and the angels
burned so brightly in my lungs, melting
my shadows around you.

I wanted to drown in you 
suffocate in your breath.
and this is not love.