The Potter

The Potter
Fingers numb
warmth gone
like love receding
she stands outside the apartment block
drags a bright eye
into her cigarette
her dress
moth wings flirting
about her legs
betraying her figure
with glimmers of silver
he is late again

Parked up the road
he reclines the driver’s seat
two chopstick fingers
flick ash onto the bitumen
and when he drags
he holds it in
a few seconds
before releasing
smoke into the night
watching glints of silver
with a sigh
he forms the words
practises the rhythm
softening the edges
a potter spinning clay.



Lip, bitten and fat
love slides off in hot water, you left
an empty pack of cigarettes
thinking so little
of dreams, plans sketched
out in night ink, the engine
of carelessness idling on
the rain drenched street
there was no room for circled calendars
you left
and I held
the door open for you.

Night’s a suit vest
stained with stars
we eat Thai under the lighthouse
wind chilling the bones
of conversation, an amputation
of true meaning, you push for sex
and I relent – the city lights
eat my heart out as the waves
white-wash noise covers the tell-tale
signs, I’ve a mind to keep you
but I always try to keep your kind
like a stick insect – so magnificent
so still, imitating a leaf.

Cider on the deck

Cider on the deck


Clouds shift, dull and dazed

a storm frowns over the horizon

lips parting for summer rain


under your eyes I abate

rain or tears

melt my foundations


night closes in like an old door

stars watch-tick away light

love’s scent appears faint


you translate Spanish love songs

masking annoyance at my coldness

I keep my longings close


Do you even have a soul?


I am silent as the moon.

your lean back against the door

your cigarette’s fiery eye

widens as you take a drag.