Thursday, 19 August 2010


Words leave the tip of my tongue
And touch her cheek

Painting pictures on her face

That she breaks into shards

To construct images of us
On treated canvas sheets

Spread upon a bed of Heaven

Scented with the breath of Hell

Fetched from deep within the
Fusion we have used there

Where our elements spread apart

And came together settled

In the sheaths that only our words
And images could have created

Mated in a single mass of flesh

Stretched and bound and captured

In a covering of walls until
We rise and start another page.

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