she used to be dotted with little stars, you know.
dotted and crossed.
cut and dried.
deep fried in sunshine and showers
but now wilted, dipped in
melted chocolate
seasoned with flecks of sweet salinity
rolling
don’t look to her eyes or the way she’ll hide from a
glazen glare
(of a glaze or s - t - a - r - e)
she can’t view […]
a rush of rash hours spent encased between layers of soundproofing between vast hills swaddled in low cloud and green grass, drowning in a wave of sound…
watch the light mist succumb
slumped in trembled pockets
hazing the icing from the cake of civilisation
A deft blow and dust unsettles
skittish, sliced and mawkish jitterbugs on glowworm days
perfumed hues wrapped close yet
slew-handed and real and
dream me
a hope tonight to sink with the stones
and rise with pebbles
wished ashoreside
standing beachside in the early hours of the morning as tides lapped and swayed, long shadows echoing in the diffuse glow…
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