Thursday, 11 August 2011

Elegy for an Island

Once I swam
In a sea in your eyes
Where memories of fear and longing
Passed me by.

Then I came to a shore
Where your lips did rest
And I quenched my thirst
And never left.

Perhaps the wind knew
Where time was going
I sat in the shade of your hair
Dark and flowing.

Your breath lulled me
To sleep and I
Sang songs to your name
And closed my eyes.

And as I slid down your smooth your neck
Your skin, it did gleam
And the island of your body slowly swayed
In the sunset of my dream.

Perhaps the wind knew
Where the birds were going
I sat in the shade of her hair
Dark and knowing.

Then I ran, on a field on her spine
And found my reasons
Sheltered in her breast
The seasons will forever be unkind
To you and I, who wander aimless.

Soon, the clouds gathered
And a storm did come
Where the armies all departed
With their bugles and their drums.

And I made a raft
To brave the tides
When sun set, as
The light from your eyes.

If you find me drifting
With my planks and my oars
Leave me like the wind
But guide me to the shore.

*photo by Piret

Monday, 8 August 2011

Shadow dance

She raises a wall of unheard gestures, vacant words, of silence...instead of building a bridge of voices. I try to replace a void shaped liked her with her shape. I dance with her shadow while she avoids the spotlight, vary of the light, surrounds herself with her dark hair and forgets the world holding a cigarette. I collide with plans i made yesterday, colours i played with and often wore while she tries to barge that door that would let it all in and wont let her sleep.

Black and white's good for now, played with grey for far too long.

Wednesday, 3 August 2011


To not hear her gentle breath
Going tender still with
The aching of the sun.
To not trace the contours on her skin
And to watch them change with time
As the candle melts.
To watch the clock ticking slowly
And day turn to night again
To carry love like a stain, after
Waving love like a flag.
To call out and receive only my echo in return
And to speak with little tongues,
With a wicked smile, as trouble does
Is not a gentle death.

*photo by Suzanne