Nuptial Flight

We talked for a while and then
I breathed you in, by accident
and like an insect you got lodged
in my throat – I had to swallow
repeatedly to even take stock
of the situation – how your oil
black hair was limp in the heat
and its one colour rainbow sheen
of sun coated me with a sweat.
I digested your little carapace
and now I twitch like a dry
and dying wasp in the porch…
Frankly, my dear, I would most love
to sting you but I am waxy –
look what you’ve brought us to
with your callow disregard
of how you fill the air, and land
in droves on my shirt – cracked
and uneven paving stones are no
solace – get off me, get off, get off.

Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response

Oh your voice,
It carries the geology of the tongue
In a startling language
Your saliva and its stones, caught by geographical time
The knot and bark of your swallow
Sussurations of your lips, of fur
Brushing past itself, salted in the night-forest
And your eyes muddy marsh
Sodden in the hills and routes of our conversation
Between moon-dragging planets.

Female, you shake me
Your strata bared by the sandblasting wind
The grass bent, rent and shattered by a foot
That mountain collapses and tectonic plates tear
You gulp in the nothing of my ear.

The Value of Darkness

If you talk to me of comfort, my friend
And darkness, well I’ve this –

If the nocturnal endlessness of the darksky
Were placed against her, I
Would mark it as a grain of dust
Hanging in her beam of sunlight
On a summerday’s comfort,
Gleaming ironmetal to its rust.

But perhaps you’d rather I turn your head in surprise –

She is as darkness to me, how it flies
Curving out at equal speed to light
Enveloping all most shadowly in night
As we lie together sweating sparks of touch –
She is my eclipse, my thunderstorm
My oceandeep gloom, my envelope
She is the stranger standing in the room
Who disappears on waking.
She is my light and dark, she is my gloaming.

She is not sound, but silence, after chatter
Shook violentwise the eardrum and composed
A mindset to accept the wind and void.

She is not caress, but the lack of touch
On a breathless day under unfeeling sun
When all the cares of the world burn into my skin
In all noise and fury.

You grade the universe wrong when you throw this out.
We measure all things, and give them measure
And photon impacts per second offer death to the heart.
Measuring value in metres cubed…

It might be right to prefer the end of the world, and doom
To the end of the shining connection, holding in storm
The weatherfronts of myself and her.

She is my welcome gloom.

A Chance Betrayal

Her dark eyes and dark hair drew
My body to hers, although we stood in regiment
Forward facing to the band –
And only for the third time, burned
My living with a brand of love
Or let me grasp again, at least
The meaning of that ancient phrase –
From life to life; love at first touch
Though I can no more believe it, fallen
In pragmatics, as I am
Or simple shyness to the flame
Which makes us small and stays our moving
Paralyzed with lack of vision.
Betrayed by confidence, I flee – and not
By my own legs, but led on thoughtless
Stancing back to her – we leave
And I don’t speak of it til later,
In a lonely tent, now taken
With a lonely hue I had not noticed
And quickly smother my grief in sleep.

The forecast is for rain, that this poet
Would rather do poetical work
Than the real work of the leap of faith
That I won’t be laughed away by empty sheets
Of paper – at least on a good day
And try and tell of why I didn’t
Rather than rushing out to throw my life
On the pulsing rack and await reply.
Well, here’s my confession, nonetheless
Pulled in lead across the page
As I am pulled in soft self rage.

Three times say I that I’ve been cracked
Upon the rocks of the female form
The second was more slow than this,
More sparkling, more warm.
But the first is why I leave the way
Willingly whenever such grief appears
I broke myself, that time, in years
As an animal, and now I rue these days
When, chaos forged cog, I see
Another closely matching my speed
Of rotation, and am tempted to engage –
A perfect storm of human attributes
And dancing before the stage.
And instead I spin in place.
Rather than risk collision
The chancing of disaster, even if it goes our way.

(Note – The aspects of attraction aren’t all nameable, but they are all relations of one to another, which is to say ‘subjective’ or experienced. And they are not only to do with the individuality of the person but their surroundings, which is to say they infuse and are infused by their surroundings. And they are not straightforwardly physical attributes like dark hair, or dark eyes, or boxes to tick, but storms or nebulae which can centre on such things, stretched over you and the world, which are to some extent, lesser or greater, sourced from this body, not that one.)