my home was a broken heart

a broken heart
was my home
with locked doors
and boarded windows
that I hoped
you'd break into.

I waited...
I prayed..
that you'd ravage the contents
throw away all the sorrows

as hours turned to days
I'd take you a squatter
..whatever
even barely surviving
I'd like it you just
with inhabitance take pride in
restoring it to life

..paint the walls
...grout the tiles
tidy shelves
give it your time

however, you turned out
an invitee without love and care
borrowing my company
but keeping yours
not sharing anything
you might've had to give

I whisper, 'hello?'
and the echo returns alone
the tone rolls off my tongue
like a ruined and void drone

in the emptiness
a tap drips slow tears
knowing all I want
is you
for just a little while
to live here

The Aquisition Of Manliness

One night, after coffee and conversation where we'd outlined falling in love; as brethren three of us walked in the dark to a quiet backstreet park. Behind residential apartment buildings we smoked for the sake of living. We sat and discussed the past - retrospecting our respective paths, and laughed at how coincidentally we'd stumbled upon a truth at last.

We realised the journey undertaken and that we all knew it wasn't over, but at that moment it was worthy our noting of how we'd all grown into men. Each wiser and older of our own accord we vocalised and brought forth a vision. Now clear through hindsight to see how over time our lives interweaved. Though we'd missed each other by distance and circumstance we were pleased that for all our travels we were unraveled together - to three men young and free. With corresponding awareness we'd pursued the acquisition of manliness fervently.

Love Is Saying Sorry

you told me with cold tone
that love was saying sorry
I replied as I felt
that I'm all spent for apology
if all you're seeking
is for me to accept blame
you'll be sourly disappointed
when I've nothing to claim
this is the same story over again
you're trying to mend
what cannot be glued
there is no adhesion
for our now historic feud
I'm the white flag that flies
signifying giving up trying
I'm wavering in the breeze
I'm saying thank you, not please

the cold kiss of your shoulder

you leaned forward and kissed me in the moment
then claimed it was the heat of it or the copious alcohol
you quickly blamed the safety of the nature of us
saying it was nothing, simply for it's sake alone

when with true intentions I tried to kiss you back
though sweet, you turned in haste from any kindness
my lips hit your shoulder, burning cold brushed me aside
and you laughed, spinning playfully away

I watched with desire as you danced deviously
revealing in recoil your heart hard as stone
it had led mine blindly, mischievously to capture
severing it's perspective with your confusing tone

clouds of doubt.

Unsettled, his gaze found the grey clouds surrounding the frame of the train's carriage window. Outbound from the city, it hit him that he'd allowed the storm to roll in without bringing an umbrella to shelter him from the acid rain that began pouring from clouds of doubt that had formed from the vapour of a lake of the day's events.

Walking to the station he'd tried irrigation, in attempt to disperse the small ocean of hurts that had emerged from the earth in a quake of distaste. They'd exploded and flowed into a crater the shape of hate. Like most natural disasters it wasn't forecasted and at it's dawning he'd underestimated it's lasting such a long time.

It was a hurricane of feeling; sweeping him from his feet, dropping him in a wilderness unfamiliar. Proceeding with these new surroundings he explored, trying to find a way out. Every corner looked the same and the names of the street signs were all moments in time that he remembered with her. And though she'd severed all ties that afternoon he didn't think that he'd be so lost, so sudden. So soon.

Your Kiss Insists

My mind is a weathered street sign. It is intention reached an intersection. To one side; the world falls away, unknowing what I'll find. The other climbs to your face and mine together. The sky shines; enticing me to drive towards that path and intermittent lay over at your brain, before a corrugated road continues straight on - aiming and praying that at it's end there's still a vacancy. That it's not filled with artifacts of the past. That it ends with clear entrance to your open heart.

Every time your lips take mine with insistent desire; I decide I'll try to let my emotions keep from seeping out or creeping high. But with firm, pressed tongues together and chests touching, if I were to confess I wanted anything less than heartfelt connection I'd be electing self-deception and telling a lie. I don't want to meet your mouth as a hitch-hiker or vagabond. I want to roar through the twines of the road; to feel the passion ascending, growing strong.

The longer this kiss lingers, time stops for us and the world discontinues. Congruous lips as a ship drift slowly towards the invitation of the port's opening. As it gets closer I'm consumed with a hope all too becoming. I sight it from the light tower and lavishly my heart's beacon flashes, trying to guide you to my harbour safely. I want to dock you and unload you; get to know you and your secret cargo. I want to be part of the crew.

I want to be a pirate and overrun you. Climb aboard and take you over. Make you mine and our every kiss a sail for this seaborn ship, hoisted to pick up the wind, destined towards the horizon set for an ocean of love leaving behind the shore. If it sinks or comes claim to storm, we can both go down knowing for sure that we tried our best and plotted with a sincere and honest ploy to take on the sea of you and I.

Heed so: if we come to capsizing ruin, let us drown in each other; gasping for final breaths as our lungs fill all up with dutiful death. Let us revel, take pleasure in submitting freely to saline love.

The Final Straw

sex is the final straw
when you realise you should withdraw
you try to explain it away as mistake
saying you can't sustain any longer
so, coldly you choose to ignore your feelings
of intrigue and attraction that once made you so sure


the moment was not enough to remember
at least as pleasant and you can't take it as relevant
or appropriate given the context
why's it that something as giving as sex
can extract this quickly from your conscience
these bizarre new facts and intents
that leave me stressed and grieving


everything dissolves as my thoughts unfold
you speak with the voice of a therapist
but react like a patient at the clap of a hypnotist
awakening with a different vision


what opened with a kiss and closed in closeness
you won't see as beautiful even if I choose to
instead you can only see it and yourself as broken
and all that leaves me is alone