Not Ready for the Songs

The span of the season's wings en-

gulf my shaky sense of safety:

they drag my being to their nest.

Though I'd welcome to be nestled

within their feathery embrace

I would much sooner welcome rest.

So the robin that chirps for me

gleeful on those frosty mornings,

please leave your song until later.

They say it's the most wonderful

time of the year and yet the sense

of weariness is much greater.

Repetition and Alteration

Repetition is a constructed lie
but one that allows us to thrive
for it's a variation improved by
the new moments had whilst alive.

Alteration in the familiar
is a route to a rout of rights
through perfecting something similar
and subsiding all of the slights.

Our Spin Sees it Just...

Pure morning light
    loitered on your
       exposed collar
        filtered through blinds
             who let strips in
           and the duvet
          kisses your breast;
       reflecting light -
     luciform love
and our spin sees it just
   that the ambered
       and slumbered sun
         should rouse those eyes
            from restful lids
         and dance to your
       rising shoulders
    exposing more
  winter lit skin;
soft snowy bliss.

Windswept

Seagull, mid-flight,

blown from its track,

caught in a gust of wind,

never finds its way back

but where does it

plan to descend

or if rather the case

did it have any ends?

I'd hope to think

it was fine chance

that took hold of its wing

and control of the dance,

for when you're caught

(feathered or fur)

it's rather the sign of

circumstance in the air.

Boundless Atmosphere

Such sinuous softness

in the silk of your skin

contains your heart's corona

and the light contained within.

Such selenic brightness

in the glow of your eyes

emits your lively love

and how our harmonise.

Such stellular hypnosis

in the pull of your lips

gravitates me towards you

and your meteoric fingertips.

Such heavenly halcyon

when you are in my arms

in a perihelion;

that point of closest calm.

Such heavenly halcyon

when our earthly bodies meet—

in space there's heard an explosion

as our weightless love accretes

Splintered Sun

Trunk splintered sun

lights leaves aglow.

Hands stretching high,

mist flying low.

The summer's death

is all for show.

Nothing to see,

nowhere to go.

Dark and Damp

Horrors lie uncertain

under Heaven's soft snow,

forsaken by sunlight

in a place forbidden go

but we ventured down

for the will of our kind;

us vessel of spirits

to see what we'd find -

it was dark and damp.