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Time buckles the facade
unwarped unwound
bound awake
buckle the belt
the shoe
the bag
and bolt

slip the little grip
with a tender wrist
the spit in the
oozing light
beg for night
bullets of octavius
from tubs of moribound
happy planet plans

The black worn denims
fit you like a glove
the jacket alive with
the fur about your collar
and you smell of the cold
of your gentle perfume
like smoke and fire
cherry something

the chin lifted
you so tough
filling your little legs

the walls ripple
in the great wave
of madness
and I describe my dreams
and the television
and how you rode a steed
in a summer forest

You roll your eyes
draw your gold butane
to impress
and lean over me
like any good night

the shirt is revealing
and the gold locket
swings catching
the light in all its
beautiful rays
Your pupils like
black hornets
on tender flowers

the sting like
a chime
you hold my
fist curled
to my shoulder
and bend
and kiss them
with your
plump fastideous

stand over me
shutting the
rigging in its
ivory box
You loved the
black minature
chess peices
when younger
The Dark Horse

like swimming
off big rock
you dove off
the great heights
and like a javelin
you went down
and down

like a dream
now its botox
and facelifts
for my gen
but yours

like a morningstar
full and alive
burning bright
I make a wish


Editing stage: 


i like your narratives they are very beautiful

I've been busy with both work and the workshops here
Have missed reading you, so thought I'd pop in for a quick visit.....
And the poem I choose turns out to be a novella
Quick visit down the drain - lol now I'm exhausted....
Loved the read, as always
love judy

'Each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star,
shall draw the Thing as he sees It, for the God of Things as They are.'
(Rudyard Kipling)

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