And you feel like home, like the smell of Mum’s cooking Or my Dad using too much garlic in his risotto For You linger longer than the rest Your scent sleeps on my scarf marks my skin with an aroma unknown to anyone else but me Your touch like a spark A shock against … Continue reading Aroma Unknown
The tip of your finger, your tongue, your eyelash outlines my silhouette in semi-permanent stain. I knew from the first touch you were, we were only temporary. Only. Not wholly. For the time being. But your mouth imprints my own and for something half-hearted and incomplete, you've made a home out of me.
Your eyes sparkle more than they used to More than I noticed before at least and I'm unsure if the glisten under the light naturally and I was just blind to it. Or if it's my presence that makes your irises iridescent only when I catch your gaze. What a privilege. And when you … Continue reading Undoing
They told us we were special, Each gift-wrapped like collectables, scraping ink into papers on tables with cries for help engraved into tainted wood. They told us we had talent, From colouring inside the lines, bringing outlines to life, with rainbows and felt-tips, tip-toeing across the blank space Like crowds, protesting, chaos over what … Continue reading They Told Us
Isn’t it bizarre how I’ll see my reflection ten years later and desperately crave, miss, wish, hiss for the face that once was. When right now I pull it a part I think and yearn for the future I worry about what’s to come and picture myself in pictures captured with my loved ones … Continue reading A Face
With the aid of Google Maps, hand in hand we walk as obscenely clueless tourists down narrow streets. I had been before, you had not. I felt it my duty to make it worth the hype I had prized it. Admist the crowds You keep me anchored Like it’s only the two of us … Continue reading In This Foreign Space
A screech, a yelp, a cry-for-help, the sex-less Orient weeps. The wind’s cries wound the clouds in a child-like scribble. Broken colour erodes the sky in a volcanic mess. The red smoke fuelling the creature’s trauma; terror-stricken, a product of time’s inevitable toll. Or perhaps it’s euphoric, ecstatic, a wail of joy, an outcast … Continue reading The Scream