a single feather, tip stained deep october red from where it was shed.
the yearning embrace of her soft grain photographs, I’m hers, helplessly.
standing hand in hand, here on the fifty ninth floor, this city is home.
each day that summer she chased down my silhouette and filled with colour.
shimmering lips press against the tired rugged bark of his wintered skin.
her lost spectacles, lay dusted, fractured, amidst exuberant greens.
torn yellow petals, and a blade of broken grass, us, all that remains.
our fallen eyelids, pummelled by an avalanche of summer warm rain.
bare feet on warm earth, shaking off the old sadness, running free again.
deep pink stained clover decorated late summer’s long meadow grass skirts.
she asked me inside, seven mint leaves, hot water, a perfect white cup.
I saw you, amongst fireflies and hummingbirds, beyond the curtain.
I saw you three times, from the north, the west, then with a porcelain heart.
a field of clover in each of her open palms, waiting, beckoning.
sunrise, harrowing, finally this was today, sunset, forgiving.
her breath as she slept, the warm west wind across my pale winter kissed skin.
long grass with bowed neck, sunshine and wind, twin rivers rushing in between.
she entered my dreams like fingers parting dark silk, then settling, sleeping.
the warmth of her touch, even in the deep unlight sparked in me flash fires.
a scratched fractured lens, her beauty filtering through in evening sunlight.
sad silver birch song, on the wind and in the eaves, yesterday, always.
late honey summer swarms thick around our ankles, dripping through our hair.
seventh boulevard, raindrops on his newspaper disguise falling tears.
an uncommon warmth between strangers in the rain, her touch, his shoulder.
her world shimmered through a lens of translucent blue, disintegrating.
rosemary rambled throughout his treasure garden, lavender beside.
seven dragonflies, shimmer and swoon across a turbulent river.
late summer contrails, disappearing faster than our frail union.
the unending scroll of his hero’s adventure, tattooed on her back.
afraid to open the handwritten envelope in his mother’s voice.
us, a brittle ship, adrift, lost, with broken mast, in ice black waters.
in the morning light, with her vintage camera, and leather red strap.
yellowed lace curtains, the tattered petticoat of their never wedding.
by the evergreens, we conquered our own mountains, those autumn warm days.
by the riverside, leaves rushing, water rushing, emotions rushing.
slender in cotton, illegally beautiful, forever summer.
all across the fields, the glistening mist, lifting, the day, beginning.
we gathered up close, her scent still warm from dancing, her neck softly moist.
in her scent slipstream, every molecule of her rendered him weightless.
which do you see first, the leaves of the tree or the sunlight in between.
his favourite tree, grey willow by the river, hem in the water.
she is beautiful. in sleep and awakening, she is beautiful.
arched branches above, our solitary parade down silver black lane.
she, my earth, my salt, and the prickling sting of stars beneath my eyelids.
lasting, soulful sleep, my elusive companion through the summer years.
closely, he studied the devastating lines of her architecture.
for every pebble smoothed and warmed by the sun, his summer, remembered.
each leaf unfurling to reveal a word, a phrase, an entire lifetime.
the lattice wire cuts into her bruised bursting heart, foolish containment.
her fingers loosened, death rays of ambivalence from steel blue grey eyes.