Amber Tiger

A tiger trapped in a ribcage,
pacing behind the bones and bars,
liquid gold and burning amber,
pulsing like angry suns
a fire beating more fiercely
than a heart ever should;
Wisdom trapped in snowflake-words,
falling through stiff fingers
and dissolving before within reach,
the cold is tearing down letters,
angering the tiger, waking the fire.

Sensory Thunder

The caress of rain
On crumpled skin,
A raindrop’s languid kiss
On a dusty finger tip;
Halting the world for a moment,
A breath from an open window,
Lingering for less than a heartbeat
Before the thunder of petrichor
Hits you like a wave, a wall,
An all-encompassing scent,
Forever clinging to the edges of your memory
As soaked clothes to your skin,
Making you shiver in summer heat

On Repeat

A song
on repeat
in the depths of relays
turned into a music box,
once enchanted, now broken,
tuned into monotonous bridges

diodes speaking of numbers stations,
abandoned, still feverishly muttering,
forever singing

on repeat,
on repeat,
on repeat …

Forever Your Ghost

And now, forever your ghost,
Like a song never quite leaving you;
I’ll be your tune, yours only to hear,
By your side as a shadow cast by your soul,
For you to see, for others to riddle,
Raising questions like goosebumps
When you nod in agreement
To the high notes of laughter,
Pearling from the wind like violin strings;
Never quite gone into silence
While tombstones crumble
And oak groves wither and crack,
I’ll walk by you in season change,
Enshrouded in eternal whispers,
To the end of the world, need be;
To follow where no living companion could follow,
Together, we’ll be glorious

Glamour

Walk right into the heart of midnight,
there’s beauty in debris
and ugliness the easiest glamour;

When the dust has settled, recount your steps,
eyes closed,
let go of the wall

And find the place
that isn’t there.

Visitation

Skin as translucent as thoughts
and pale as words,
A fleeting spectre of an idea
like a ghostly visitation,
a brief interlogue
With a comfortable stranger,
Unwinding a length of yarn,
tying your fate to that of someone
across the gulf of time and space
and life and death;

Leaving a trace in your soul,
a mark of phantasmal company
in your solitudes,
shadows of fabrication
cast by that chance encounter
In your mind,
Forever binding you to a figment
you didn’t even intent to make appear.

Waste and Delight

Sweeping ashes into coffee cups,
Pouring disaster past your lips,
You swallow crumbling reality and defeat
Like pride glazed in red cherries;
And the world stopped turning long before
But your mouth roams the wastelands,
Still sampling every crumb of salt and sand,
The lingering taste of loss sweet as sugar glass,
Shards cutting into dry-tongued sighs
Devouring themselves in deserted eagerness

Morning Wings

Speak into the night,
Coax it into morning
— softly, with gentle words,
Don’t scare it off,
Don’t try to rush it;
Let it grow,
Slowly unfolding,
Breathe against the wings
Of blush and silver dust,
Keep watch until it takes flight.

No Words Tonight

No words,
not today, not tonight,
just a murmur pressed into your neck;

No sounds,
not now, not ever,
nothing save unvoiced answers;

Nothing,
nothing said, nothing asked,
only the night winds talking.