Once monuments, and moments of euphoric majesty,
Momentum gained, and we lost much in its speed,

Fangs of addiction, marked by pangs and affliction

When reality seems so strange, it takes fans

Nostalgia on this rainy day
Accessory to forced smiles, the fans where
essences smudged in

You have to know a good recipe,
But also what can be added
And what can be left out;

You

I heard her finger
scrape the chalk board,
jarring me from impending sleep.

Phantom

The shape and size
Of the toffees
That came in gold paper,

One would be pressed
Big and

My long-dead mother's horror
Of rat-filled bomb-shelters,
Her claustrophobia, her chilblains,
Hit

Decades and decisions between us
You still step out of time,
Long since the 11C allowed me to ride

It's always there -
the town where I grew up -
in the mind's eye -
like a speck of dust on

I saw you
on the boardwalk -
tight-roping along the wooden slats
or gliding with gulls
above

The art of back and forth.

Just another ordinary day; sitting all alone on the porch swing.

A love with a stifled voice,
Belittled by those of ill-formed choice,
I share a grá for another

I feel like a lost soul without you on this planet
on this world I have nothing much to talk about

Sun Wukong
was my first
superhero.

No journalist jesus
with his undies
on the outside.

No

Longing for small, curvy roads,
taking me to breathtaking lochs.
Fragrance, colour, beauty

My paper throat tears
And I hate the sound it makes when it does.
An English cold
Is Winters gift

I want to wake up yesterday
When the sun seemed warmer
When snowflakes were falling stars
When

Saw an old picture
Of myself
I didn’t recognize
I thought flirts
And undressed him
With my

I wait
Anxiously
For that
First tremor
Of muscle
Around lips
Of eyes
Brightening
And

I am so very
Alone
At night
Jealously
Watching you
Dream
Without me

The brightest part
Of my wary days
Is waking in the dark
To the serene smile
On your sleeping

I hope,
And I pray
That if I wake
Without you
I wake without
Memories of you
Else
I

I want a love like that of
Isherwood and Bachardy
Not because one is great
And the other

let the scars beneath
your skin surface
let them radiate
your grand tragedy
and polished

A buzzard, belonging, circles
sun in blue heaven,
covering comfortable green
white with blossom.

I remember innocence and warm September rain,
I remember Batman when he was just Bruce Wayne.
I

I couldn't be more sure
Of all the nostalgia I'd endure,
If I were to explore
A calf love

This place is always a little lonely
At the weekends...no noise and life;
I like solitude,
But

Corsica, oh my Corsica,
Corsica of a thousand charms,
Corsica of whose fragrance
I can

O how
Ruefully I pine
For mi pueblito perdido,
What I wouldn’t give,
To be young again,
And

Our soft hands are reaching for the last page.
We long to skip ahead,
to be done with it already,

The dream,

An early morning awakening.

Past and present merge.

I’m in an unfamiliar