poetry

You were never a saviour Maybe an indecent deity That you can’t relish in the purity of devotion But instead must Bask in imagined envy....

How long my roots could have grown around the stones of a borrowed throne Is a blessing to never need to know. You, your stifled smile ...

And like lovers do the sun on a day undeserving of an end, Every year chases me to the end of a one way street And I only get slower. All...

You write to me in soot laden notebooks and the margins of your favourite books before you ever gave me a name. I wonder who you imagined...