“Poet”

there were days that we could lie
about the beauty in everything,
but now I can only tell the truth.

“Marked”

there’s a fingerprint in blue
pressed against your cheek
a mark someone left,
possibly me,
but otherwise you look right
just like I remember, all colours
sparking about your features.

“Lily-Loves”

Lily-loves fall and fade
for mere remembered moments,
bursting, alighting on the night
anew with every fresh sighting,
at every intake of air,
every subtly curling smile.

We bed down in failures,
wrapped up tight in dark,
blood-burnished mud buried
slowly
arms twist and reach around
a trunk of flesh and feeling.

Greenery dips and falls down skin,
rolling waves of ivy wrap themselves
around hips and sides and necks,
curling and caressing soft scarred skin
blooming petals in furrowed ground.

It dripped
and fell, caught our light
spinning colours on walls
speckling skin with light-paint
droplets
the rain grew and grew
to fall on us
and you, soaking hair, running hands
down the temple’s walls.