This one is for Jo and Shell who have always been kind with their views on my sporadic writing spouts. Hope you both are doing well.

This pocket of space between the city and you,
This orange world, the world we know,
When we drive down a dizzy evening,
With your words in my head, singing.

The wind blows green when I touch your face,
And the earth slips by like a whisper under sheets,
Heaven swells and sighs as you stare out and say,
'How I wish it was a rainy day.'

This pungent life overpowers those flowers,
The ones you picked and threw my way,
The din of disappointment loom large here,
For streetlights steal the spaces where we stayed.

I stare far away sometimes,
And think of the skies you drew for me,
In a city that runs to catch up with nowhere,
I miss you when I wish for a rainy day.

Look here now, these ambitions lie still,
We talk in whispers here, no more lunching now,
There is more tea to silence those,
Those who disturb the air,
That still, artificial, conditioned air,
My heart is tearing open here,
This place right opposite you,
This place next to your indifference,
My heart is ripping open,
This shirt is wet with shame now,
There's a deadline in my eye,
And music in my ears,
Another year and I'll be done for,
Another year and I might leap.

Swallow that heart and look straight,
That still, artificial conditioned look,
This music right next to your indifference,
This music right opposite you,
My voice is ripping open, here,
Look, my head now deaf,
My head is now a world,
Now a universe, now a void,
Now a memory, now a static,
Swallow that head, look straight now,
We don't have time for a lump in your throat,
We don't have room for permeable shields,
Buck up! Buck up now, we'll be back here,
24 hours at late and we'll be back where we started.

The world revisits, every now and then,
To watch over ambitions paused,
To watch if they'll dare to move,
Every night, I hear them rattle,
Every night I hear a broken heart weep,
Every morning I watch this picture in my head,
A picture of you and me, this time to keep.

All the women and their silver wigs,
The men and lonely songs that follow their drinks,
There are handles here to keep you from falling off,
And shared cheap reasons to hold your ground.

You can ask for your dose of chaos on the rocks,
And gaze into the eyes of the stranger who wants you to talk,
Rub some glitter into the pit of your palm,
And call them stars when the silver wigs drop.

This dance of complexity is the order of my life,
The world is a raging bar that churns,
The world is six walls and a hundred feet on your chest,
Find a prayer and pick your corner to burn.

Yellow cabs observe through worried mirrors,
When I stare at streetlights passing fast,
This city is crowded with lost glass slippers,
And five feet boxes of lives ajar.

You wore orange on your lips when I worked my hands by,
Like a liquid pool of sunrise that burst upon my skin,
Time is but a pawn of hope, she whispered as we parted,
I watched as love quietly suffered your cost.

They hum prayers under muted breaths,
Some chant through their friday night journeys,
When I watch the sea run by these rusted carriage railings,
My heart wells at the thought of where you might be.

These days are filled with fragile dusks and dawns,
How many have I seen in passing with you?
How many have we broken through promises you made,
I'll map them on the sky and hope you find me some day.

If home is where the heart is,
I should stop where you begin,
And revel in the taste of a different familiarity.

I have no exotic words to offer,
Or short promises to make,
No earth bound ships and hardwood floors,
Or lighthouse beds to take.
You walk on like the world does,
Ignorant of the chaos under your skin.

If home is where the heart is,
I should run through your closed doors,
I should wake up soon enough,
And make peace with this thread of hope.

I like this time of the night,
Between yesterday and today,
A period of transition
Is when I have my dinner,
Not that it tastes any better,
But hey! Another day is just
an hour away, but,
Is it any different?

Two degrees of separation,
And thirty minutes to add,
I want to meet my seventeen,
And tell her it'll all be fine,
I was alone then,
I'm simply lonely now,
Two degrees of separation,
And ten minutes to midnight.

Dessert during transition,
I like to make a joke
Of routine extraordinaries.
After all, midnight is just
Midnight.

That's two over four,
Like gin over beer,
The rain should stop,
Once this madness unfolds.

You break the fifth
Over the song I love,
In the distance they play,
Truth or dare (now who cares?)

I was like you once,
Angry and indifferent,
Now I simply blind myself,
With more than I care to see.

Sit down, the sun's rising,
Mercury skies hover for you,
Anger's just a tonic boy,
She's already far gone.

Another day for a stranger's stare,
You might find her approval there,
They all come and go,
Between the wreck and shallow water.

Black tea and bread,
Should ease the pain,
Did they only warn you about love?
And forget the morning-after?

Head now, join the robot race,
Black ties and that filthy smile,
They can see your gin stained tongue,
But not the heart it speaks.

Make love, not silence.
Wage your war, not indifference.

You enjoyed it, did you not?
Long black stockings
That ran up to your thigh,
Where did you hide
Those lovely white stockings?
Do they sweat innocence still?

I envy all those people
Who can sell their soul;
All those poems of righteousness,
Are but another insipid way
Of justifying what we truly are,
Underneath the white light.

Then again, I see your skin and mine,
The likeness is discomforting,
If you are as jaded as I am,
Why do you like your black stockings?
Maybe we can look at everything
Like a red blur, simply passing by.

I cling to my ring,
It's my only permanence,
My tattoo will only fade,
Isn't that pleasantly comforting?
You walk in and out
In the dead of the night,
And I think again,
When we're so miserable apart,
Why do you like your black stockings?

To love and learn,
Is one.

To live and learn,
Is another.

So much ado over the Heart;
The Brain must snigger
In his empty throne.

A walk with the wind in the prison of time,
Free spirits in her collarbone entice me,
Earth tethers me down with her adoration,
Yet I long for the wind and her company.

You whisper so much that I almost believe,
Our one-fine-day is a lot nearer than reality,
You sift through these memories with eerie ease,
Earth and her comforting dirt over my feet.

How will I pass that half of my life,
Where the world sleeps and you awake,
Those twelve hours of comfort and slumber,
That first fall of a quiet snowflake.

As painful as it is, to write,
That I have to let go of you tonight,
I know the Earth will plant new seeds,
Of hope unfair and faith unheeded.

How do I articulate,
This image of you,
In my heart?

Do I embrace them cliches,
And tell you that you're beautiful?
Or tear the ground with my nails,
And pick pretty pink words,
And arrange them in a poem for you?

Or do I walk past in silence,
Because I would rather leave you
Unscathed by words?

I wish I could simply take your hand,
And plunge it into my heart,
And leave these words aside.

If this world were big enough,
It would fit in your palms,
Cup your hands and kiss this void,
Till the world matures in your warmth.

Part my skin and pick a nerve,
Soak your fingers, gauge the soil,
Pick the seeds within your frock,
Throw them careless, laced with luck.

This wisp of a life is not your gamble,
The tide of my blood speaks louder,
Can't you feel it wash your hands,
Crash on your fingers and sink into sand?

If this world were big enough,
It would hold just you inside,
Life and air would play no part,
Love would no more hide.

Cup your hands and kiss this void,
I want to fall asleep now,
I want to sleep till dawn finds courage,
Till the world matures in your warmth.

I wish someone had
Told me to pause and look,
And not grow up fast.

Stones skipping on water,
Bed-time stories for dinner,
The smell of home on a Friday,
The passing of a mirage as childhood,
Lego blocks and puzzle pieces,
The undiscovery of love.

Most importantly you know not,
The effect of adolescence
And adulthood,
Chiming and crashing together as one.

Of all the things love extracts,
The structure of routine,
The little bitter secret stack,
Poems from forgotten journeys,
Maple leaf bookmarks and silent learnings,
Random smiles along a busy day,
Stolen words from quiet nights,
Tastes you hate over tastes you like,
Of all the things love extracts,
And all that it gives back so more,
Make that painful exception darling,
And part with my sleep for tonight.

I think of you over a beaten clock,
Time weathers down as it follows my heart,
I still think of stories to tell,
That lonely princess by the temple bell,
Love likes its stone dice slippery smooth,
No edge left for the luck of a rook,
Follow the streams and walk the line,
Throw in a storm and these words resign,
So much for courage, I ask nothing more,
Just my sleep darling, the rest is yours assured.

It's quite intriguing,
How love sounds prettier,
With a background score.

Odd incessancy;
Believing someone else knows,
Where we might end up.

So much ado over a shining star,
The star that looks up at us,
Thinking all it can ever do
Is simply shine.
This thread ball of a world,
With knee deep wet mud
Decomposition between my toes
Skeletons beneath my feet,
Stories and lives between the roots,
Of plants and trees that search for more,
Packed so close to hide the passion
That flows red and yellow within.

Is it just coincidence,
Or a cliche of life,
That everything here is alive from within,
That everything slowly fades towards the outside,
Crust, tissue, magma, bones,
Nerves, blood, dirt and smog,
The heart, the core, buried so deep,
Safe within the confines of skin and life,
Yet hurl a word with a jagged edge,
And the armour falls as strong as it stands.

So much ado over a shining star,
Ask me, I float in endless space,
And if I had anything to share soon
With this threadbare, beaten world,
I would share by the slip of my breath;

You.

Sunday morning walks,
I saw the sea like you told me,
Surging and flowing onto new sands,
I saw that little park like you told me,
Clean and sparkling from an early shower,
I saw those baige and peach walls,
Sheltering you from little storms of the night,
I saw the mosque down the road,
In the middle of the sea,
I passed on a little prayer too,
For you, for me,
I turned around, I stood by what you saw.

This sunday morning walk,
Salty eyes and moist lips,
Frescoes and old buildings by the shore,
You were everywhere, yet never too close.