I reach for the edges to hold on,
faux paint in tawny yellow,
Nordic blue, forever-green and lipstick red, sliding off
my roguish tongue. Rancid now but I
keep swallowing colours and their shadows
off my dining room wall. Some paintings
are framed and never move.

Night-time stride beneath fair moon-light,
looking left, the ocean rocking,
breaks white sprays on hilly shores.
Endless wavelets course the docks.

Warring thoughts, something’s not right here...
Past the docks I spy some buildings.
Amber lights reveal a scurry.
Dream feet flight, I’m instantly there.

Hundreds flee, in hurried fashion,
signalling to trail their lead.
Dread is heavy, as a sickness;
can’t shake this feel we all may die!

as in "Dune"
the dreamer has awakened
to new realities
because of you
your delicate touch
bringing fresh sight
and sharpened perception
to my guarded world
I was once a vagabond
skimming my way
across my life
not getting involved
taking no chances
many close encounters
decided my path
of flight from
dreaded relations
I would only lightly
briefly touch down
on one night stands
but more often than not
preferring my own company

He danced on Love’s fiery coals
their heat exciting his heart
as Lent lilies by Wind’s tune.
His quill mercilessly bled
lucid verse on his ardour;
and his violin’s serenades
infused night’s serene quiescence.

Ah, but this cruel absence
his sanity now pervades
and strips his heart to the core.
Yet he by Love’s promise led-
drawn into approaching monsoon-
yields and partakes of the hurt
as no memory recalls.

Head bowed, he’ll stand- in his hand,
a lonely withered camellia.