No.31

That girl hangs under the water.
Waxy pallor simultaneously shiny and matte.
If you sit on the bank and look across the water
you won't see her.
But stand and cast your eyes over the scene
And there she'll be.
Just hanging under the water.
A pre-raphaelite figure,
minus the romance.

Mostly, in death, there is little romance.
It's not like the stories of star cross'd lovers.
It is loss, grief, abandonment and anger.

Who is angry with that girl?
There's someone, somewhere,
for whom her peaceful countenance
leaves them livid with rage.

But still, she hovers,
as still as only a corpse can be,
not even rippling the surface.

No.30

It seems as though I can't resist his tarnished glow.
An autumn sunlight is his style.
Not bright and blinding of summer;
Not sharp and awakening of spring.
It pervades every membrane of my oh-so human body
And warms it from within.

No.29

I can feel you returning to me
from a place I don't know.
I kept your side of the bed warm.
Slowly, slowly,
We will collect the fragments
scattered all around
And toss them back into the sky,
where they belong.

No.28

An ancient moon sits atop the sky,
throwing light as brightly as the day it was born.
Close by, stars cluster,
eager to add their glimmer.
Silhouettes of palms
and banana trees
work like shadow puppets,
illustrating the foreignness of the scene.
A chorus of insects and frogs
and the low voices of mandinka conversation
are punctuated by distant drumming.
Still the heat clings to the earth.
But a soft night-time breeze
- barely flowing over your skin like silk -
eases away the travails of the day.

No.27

It is madness
says reason

It is unhappiness
says caution

It is nothing but pain
says fear

It has no future
says cynicism

It is ridiculous
says pride

It is foolish
says insight

It is impossible
says experience

It is what it is,
says love.

No.26

The sun beats down more heavily

on this little morning patch.

Its weight slamming onto the concrete

like a cartoon anvil.

Everything it touches

immediately molton-

The floor, a cushion, my foot.

I watch my foot melt over the step,

gloopy, fleshy, messy.

Splodging down onto the step below.

The heat causing the air above to shimmer giddily.

I imagine the foot in a frying pan, 

sizzling brightly, exuberantly.

Turning golden brown,

a diathermy smell filling the air.

I see the foot shrivel in the drying rays,

withering to a third of its usual size.

It resembles a relic of ancient Egypt, 

curled at the edges, bereft of moisture, crinkled, brittle.

I shut my eyes to the sun's leering stare.

When I open them, 

my foot is a foot is a foot.

No.25

I want to wrap you up
In a cocoon.
To envelop you,
To protect you,
From the world's ambushes.
My arms a shield
My love a bullet-proof suit.
I want to be your lifebelt -
I will pull you back to shore,
If you will let me.

No.24

Let's settle this

Like cats.

Let's settle this

With claws and teeth

And fur flying

-I'd like to take a chunk out of you right now

And I'm sure you feel the same.

I'll arch my back

Stretch it right out

Goosebumps attending every hair

Adrenaline fuelling my fight-or-flight.

And we'll circle each other

Ready, so ready

To pounce.

Have no doubt:

I'll fight,

and I'll win.

No.23

I feel what is in your heart so keenly
This dark day, this sad day.
And if I could lighten
the heaviness of your heart I would.
I don't claim to understand the pain you must be feeling;
But know that although
things seem empty now
You will come to realise that lightness and joy
were only hiding in the shadows.

No.22

You're gone again,
And my head is filled with you again.
I have plenty to do
But daydream instead
Of you, again.

Come back soon.
I've had enough of missing you.
Somehow, your absence
Is more of a distraction
Than your wonderful presence.