Wednesday, May 11, 2016


She is the moon
Alive – yet within his mirror
a royal white silk tear
Solo, as he

Safe with his lens, he sits awhile
away from his looking glass
and its cold, smooth kiss

'I know pearls will bring me sadness
and must not be stitched into a wedding dress'
he hums his mother's words
hunched in his white coat
pencilling his equations
A cool manipulation providing a blood rush

She sits in her white dress
a bride to be forever
whilst the galaxies ripple around her
a pleat of star songs

The poets see her
The children see her
The fools see her
The wise see her
Whilst his logical heart stays blind