No.18

The all of you

Plus the small of me.

This works.
The evidence is two-fold and abundant.

Addition results in multiplication:
You and me squared.

I'm not enjoying these mathematical analogies
But a pattern is emerging
This is happening repeatedly
To the power of I-don't-know-what.

Attempts to find some sense
Are feeble and truly,
Unnecessary.

Sense is not the point.
Maybe a biology lesson
Would be better.

No.17

Crispy thing,
Let me inside your shell.
You're a little tough today.
I want to see again the kernel
Nestled in your core.
I'm a human nutcracker,
And you, my love,
Can sometimes be unyielding.

No.16

The dresser

Is more than a dresser.

Its many-compartmented form

A wooden reproduction of my mind.

Too many things clutter the shelves and crowd the drawers.

The charity shop cake stand that keeps my jewellery safe.

That wonky lighthouse I made out of cardboard.

The Chairman Mao alarm clock I bought in Wutai Shan.

Books, postcards, photos, trinkets, music, lamps and strings of lights.

Each object escorted by a tale.

A little like Tracey Emin's Bed I suppose..
the subject matter a little different.

I store my very self within the central cubby hole

Just as I did my grandparent's dresser

More than twenty years ago.

No.15

I'm transparent,


But sometimes you're granite, I can't break you.


More often than not, you crumble at my touch.


We disintegrate together-


Eventually into a heavy sleep.



And the next morning,

I know you, 

All over again.