Saturday, September 8, 2012


Your love, my Dear is like a drug.
Sweet, syrupy, sometimes abrupt.
Dark with meaning, Light with candour.

The companionable silences,
comfortable counterparts to the exuberant exchanges that follow.

Like butter on toast, a rose to my nose.
Tell me darling whenceforth I should go.
For your arms my love, are inviting me so.

Wednesday, September 5, 2012


I look out. At the rain.
A fine mist coalescing into a shower of silver needles.
Sharp and slanted into the wind. 
Before exploding in wet demise. Silver shards on the black asphalt .
As tongues of lightning fork across the sky. 
Brilliant flashes rending the black canvas of night.
Amidst the lazy drawl of thunder. 

And the symbolism is not lost on me.
Of you and I.
And the dance we dance, to a tune only we hear.
But for now all I think.
Is of my bed and how good it'd be.
As it rains.
And so I shall.