A mistake was made
a slip, with teeth grazing over hip
bone and fingers counting
the pulse in my neck
with tongue reading the fine print
between hungry thighs
and errors counted in lust locked
eyes that knew too much with one touch.
That came, invited, delighted at
the way in which this miscalculation
of misfired sexualisation that shook
me real good this time
placed tongue caught between breath
and beat to expose lip between teeth
to hold back the betrayal
that every shiver gave away
to give way to something forgotten
something shushed to sleep down low.
That hot fizz that starts at the
base of the throat and slides
like honey
like warm malasses
like bourbon over ice
down to spread its heady warmth
in places that hold dark spaces
and matter that matters
that slicks fingers in many mouths
and demands a voice I barely recognise
to beg, please, I can’t afford to remember this.

Find Me

I am fading
The Invisible Cunt
the crevice between my legs
a timeline of past miscalculations
of longitudes in my latitude
of photographic sense-memory
and capsules buried deep
opening with my fingers
late into the night
a solo venture
trying to find where I got lost
of what cliterature is read there
what cunnilinguistics I speak now
where the thoughts
slippery when wet
loosen the grasp I have
on what it means
to be me.

Hang On

I hang around your neck
A fleshy reminder of my being there
Not an elsewhere you can move from
When the weight of me is too much
When the feel of my skin
On yours
Begins to itch a sweat from you
A place to steal away from
And all you want is cool air
To navigate those shoulders of yours
Like a lovers hand
Trailing its desires over bone turned flesh
In a motion to infer more to come
I can feel you shrink away from me
As I let my gravity take place
On something I thought would support me
A strength of character more than form
That I try to ignore
Is lacking in sincerity these days
And I can feel the way your breath
Plays at hiding the sigh that escapes
When I say baby cum for me
With a voice I no longer have
The confidence in to say what I really feel
Which is that I am losing my grasp on us
Losing the feeling of recognition
When I hold you, so rarely now,
And wait for lips that retreat
Behind words tinged with excuses
Tinged with a lack of desire to bother
To pretend you want it anymore.

I Don’t Anymore

What you say to me?
I see lips move
Hands gesture
But the words fall like tumbled letters
From your mouth and into your hands
As you grapple to catch them
Collect them back together,
Form sentence
Construct your pretext.

What you say to me?
The tone hits my face
Like cold wind on chapped skin
Strike across my cheekbone
That tilts my world view
Never to be realigned
Axis forever skewed
From the shock of it all
From the mockery of it all.

What you say to me?
I cannot hear it
The blood thumps through my ears
Drains the veins around my heart
Constricts my throat
Bursts in my temples
To make present the what of
What you are saying
The happening of it all.

What you say to me?
I back away
Startled deer
Headlights of your eyes
Blindingly open finally
Revealing the truth of it
And I am shattered glass
From a fallen fragile frame
On the harshest of concrete.

And so I ask it again,
What you say to me?


You have rights
all of them
to this flesh
When I find myself open
when I find myself ready
Until then I will censor my skin
and heave thigh rather than chest
look over shoulder
than a straight gaze truthful

Until then

And when reconciliation
of both my selves occurs
I will peel like warm fruit
and drip honey fresh for you to taste
Between leg
between breast
between mind and body
A moment when I will succumb for you.

To Be Free

I feel the
Wait I do not
There is an absence that isn’t heavy
That is empty and hollow
The lightness of its being
Heaves my chest with might
More than the guilt of a presence
Other than yours on my mind tonight
Because it lifts the pretence off my shoulders
And squares them fully to tomorrow.


It started with baby talk
Ended with a non-returning walk
A path being built with stone and grit
Of not talking or giving a shit
Of moments passed
Of fucking her in the ass
When only I was left wanting
Instead of this god damn cunting
Person who I don’t know
Who got to see your private show
When I was left without
And now I’m pissed off enough to shout
About the overwhelming absence
Of your stifling benign bullshit presence
And complete lack of conviction
To follow through with self eviction
I’ll shut an emotional door made wood
And watch you regret that I’m gone for good.



Lay it all on me
The blows and shrieks
The passive aggressive the weak
Lay it all on me
How I made you do it
How if the shoe fits
Lay it on me
What you didn’t say
What you forgot to relay
Lay it all on me
The stagnant guilt
Stained sheets and quilt
Lay it all on me
The wayward looks
The transgressions the fucks
Lay it all on me
Lay it all on me
Or just lay with me
And all is forgiven.

The Weight

The weight
that is what breaks the moment
a reality quilt that although lighter
is heavier than the fiction of your presence,
that rests gently on my skin
where your hands should grip,
that dips between my hips
where your mouth should be,
that brings warmth
where you should breathe.
I pull the quilt tighter,
hoping to fool my mind
to let me let you in again,
but feathers prick and the rustle
no longer sounds like your satisfaction.
And I awake

Your Hand

In my hand
the crevices I cultivate from its curve,
the texture of palm to skin,
I find empty space
where you were last
where you were tasked
with seducing the thoughts
I keep hidden
to cum into the light and be seen
a scene imprinted like fingerprinted
cards that hold the crimes committed
that informed the wrong mouth
of the hip it curved
the body it positively perved on
played on
pluralised upon in
getting closer to a place too hard
to forget.
I stare at this empty space
wonder how sense memory
can hold it tighter than truth
can bring a flashback
of bent forward and arched back
How it has that power
to throwback to the hour
it started
smarted my lips
with first kiss and drawn out bliss
until all that was left
were bruises to press again later
I stare at it idly
blindly serving the recollection
servant to its thrall.
But fuck it all.
What’s the point of empty hands
of clean skin
of scentless sheets
of sound without Oh God Oh Fuck Touch it?
What’s the point in putting fingers
to lips
sliding down hips
slipping into places
sacred spaces
just to pull it forward for a moment?
In my hand – I find empty space.