Monday, 11 January 2016


noctambules, spinning,
the lights stroke the skin
the fever undulates
dont say I didnt tell you

Full of promises walking
exhaling fire
suggesting heaven
an eye here, a slight movement there
-a lonely flower of the wilderness
atop the mountain looking down to death

we quarrel in the garden
dance like fireflies
flicker the scent of desire

lets fly together
for a dawn or two never to meet again

Tuesday, 5 January 2016


She misses the colourful riot of her garden in summer, the afternoon languor and her mother's steps.