Counting Down

Feed me to the dogs of Forgotten Hell
Count to 30 behind closed eyes
send my remains in rags – nothing else
matters more no longer now.

Count to 20 behind closed eyes.
Where are we and who am I
no longer can the Fates disguise. Hear
the shuttering speed of my mind’s divide –
attention held but dropped and bruised
throughout Rejected Time.

Count to 10 behind closed eyes.
A dream tonight given to a blind mind
and how I dare to dream you close
and remember the poses so of two bodies
greatly intertwined.

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A Disgrace by Armrests

Oh, how nice it feels
may I confess, a moment
of warmth as your
leg casually leans
on my thigh.

My dear, we sit an
armrest apart, and
between the seats a
war blooms, yet
the skies remain clear
as long as you continue
to touch me so.

Alas, the play,
I do so repent. Forgive
me muse for not playing
my part to appreciate
the outward displays of art.
But you must understand, I beg
you please, to find in your
gracious hearts to forgive me
with my dear.

Grace his body with a
graze of my hand.
Noble art, is this.
Divine meditation to
lie with my heart.

Forgive my mind, imagining
ahead of time as at
the present of space, our
bodies divided but by his
simple touch.

A Quiet Manifesto

Are these the moments
that we look back on,
weary with age?

Of the growing nerves,
of the sleepless nights
filled with thoughts
and scenes that star only you and me?

To talk without words
yet I still hear your
voice within the rooms
of my mind, when nary
a sentence from
you to me has been seen.

Will these be the days
that I look down on,
high from age?

Oh dear, hold me
close to these moments
of unimagined, uninhibited
bliss that your written
words once sent cause
yet.

Of counting down the days
which turn down into hours
before I can see your form
once more.

But with the hopes
and highs, the lows
naturally match.

A quiet manifesto
of me following you.
A quiet manifesto
of lovers’ parts
and how they play.

Of turns and falls
when fear to fall
is at the forefront
of the heart –
whether the play will
continue or stall
is yet unknown.

But for now the feeling
is known from at least
one part who owns a guarded heart,
that I want this quiet manifesto
of falls and turns,
of parts and plays,
of matching paces and winding days,
that this play marches on.

24 November (WIP)

Lie with me for an hour more –
lay me down with a night for us to sleep.
My day has been hard, your day has been long.
Basic desire is to end the
light in your arms.

Surrendering this day
with an embrace within your form.

Jesus Christ today was long.

The night draws near, the light has
been conquered yet we’re hours
apart and your face is set in silence.

Speak to me when you think my name,
Touch me when you say my name.
Surrender to the night when the lights
ease down.

And with me will you try to be a man
considerate and respectful to all things?
With yourself, be kind and forgive, and
to the rest of us beyond your light
brown eyes,
try to treat us with compassion
and be willing to be wise to us
mortal souls still yet with undecided
minds.

But at the night when the day
is long and worn, leave thoughts
of all the others at our door.
Take to me and ever belong,
a team together safe in our home.

North Sea Travels

Alone here I lie
a mind awake and
an empty side.

Please, oh, please
come back when you can
to both comfort off the
world and to enjoy the
plot of earth where
we stand.

Awake, still more,
thoughts they do abound
of the reality I face and
the expectations I wish to be
found.

Dear, a week for us to
meet. Seven days mark
the travellings and ramblings of the
rough North Sea.

Come to me as
quick as you can,
and us alone to face the rest of
the world from
our own plot
of land.

An arm, your arm,
on my side.
Imagined only
by my frantic mind.
Imagined only, from
the missing time by
which I still abide.