Paper Hands
Your paper hands reached out of the blue night.
Gentle, white, wavering,
they beckoned my surrender
to the stream of dreamed promises
slipping
easily between the slick lips
of your full moon face.
Those words you said,
seemed to weave
a silk thread,
that held me there,
floating
beside you.
I became an orange kite -
drenched in rain, yet warm as day -
flying from the rusted leaves
to replace the blaze
of the sunken sun.
Too hot!
Sparks snapped
along the silk fuse,
setting your paper hands alight.
And like the tumbling ash of a November night,
they fell away.
As I Lie
I feel it growing colder, as I lie here.
The sun’s cradling rays replaced
by the harsh beam of a streetlight
that steams through the thin glass
of my window, and reveals,
without invitation,
my soft form silhouetted
against the white plasterboard.
A singular shadow, that once danced in your hands
now limp - a puppet without strings.
But I still feel your grasp
on the strings of my heart,
and I wonder, do I pull at you too?
Do you lie, alone as I,
an empty space at your side,
filled with me?
A cloud of nostalgia so thick,
you could almost reach out,
touch it
with trembling fingertips,
the way you once touched my hot skin.
Or am I already swept away,
on this November wind?
A passing memory, you brace yourself against,
that leaves you growing colder.
umbrellas
It was those umbrellas
that brought us together.
Not the black kind, seen too often
rippling
between these dark buildings.
And not our own;
We were too hopeful, naive,
to carry such armour beneath our coats -unprepared for the downpour
hurtling towards us.
Rather,
It was those two orange umbrellas
we found, lying side by side
on the grey ground,
which reflected,
clearer than the glassy rain,
ourselves.
Two bright figures
standing together,
yet lost amongst the crowd.
We had wanted to live beneath
those umbrellas,
shielded in orange light.
But in love there is no shield -
To love means to reveal.
Peel back each layer
Until you stand, lips together,
Naked in the rain.