my loveliness waits,
through decades of lost haste,
through trials and grief,
peaceful days and dire straits,
my loveliness waits.
i wait …
through decades past,
for kisses meant to last,
i wait,
to hold my loveliness,
in these lonesome arms,
i wait,
transcending lust,
overcoming desire,
i wait,
to be burnt to ash,
in the furnace of her raging fire.
the subtle constant of mathematics …
rigorous proof.
simple. constant. real.
not this implausible charade, this illogical masquerade,
all our perambulations,
wasted wordy navigation,
our tottering,
our swaying,
our constant greed,
to believe,
clinging onto inexplicable human need,
the belief in fantasy:
fantasy as staple nutrition,
upon which our collective illusions,
continually feed.
on the cusp …
trawling turquoise seas,
cast adrift,
your eyes caressing fitful slumber,
whispering paens,
soothing the ache,
of this weary traveller,
parched,
thirsty,
alone,
cresting waves,
treading water,
hither and thither,
a tattered heart,
a wounded soul,
bathing my being,
nestling,
in cocooned dreams of your sugarcane lips,
seeing,
feeling,
tasting,
your breath,
soaked in visions of you,
the mirage,
a crescendo fanning flames of desire,
of love, lust, tremulous fingers,
brushing your hair away,
sipping kisses,
consumed by the furnace,
your body, mine,
entwined,
hungering for your tongue,
fiery,
insistent,
true,
soaring above vagabond skies of blue,
unshackled at last,
craving only you …
my bipolar scribble …
thoughts racing, taking on the whole world so cruel and wide,
‘I’m fine, I say, I just have to decide’,
do i stay in bed again, swirling down a maelstrom of gloom,
or commence the spring-cleaning of my already spotless room,
ah, decisions decisions,
far too many to divine,
‘I think I’ll scribble endlessly on,
because really, really, really,
I really am just fine’.
Scribbled Verse 