Those could be the golden days

There we were
we found this yellow wasteland
where we let our bodies fall to meet cracked earth
Stared up at the sky and watched
amber stars grow brighter with age then dull into death 
We likened ourselves to them until the moon set
Until pearlescent, lemon rain chased us from clarity 
There we were
we hid in rusted out bombs from way back 2016 because the year is 2216
murky tears amplified my hearing
Couldn’t see from where the windows ought to be
Post apocalyptic us watching and running and hiding and holding 
we could only exist in one another’s arms
chrysanthemum eyes
daffodil smiles
There we were
Saffron coloured love

Unmasking together

Sinking below facades and into depths like bottomless pools
I will witness you
Scars parading helplessly
Clothes plummeting floor bound
burning up on entry
obliteration on impact
Makeup making up Van Gogh immitations on the shower floor
Painting is for abstraction
Cleansing is for illumination
Masquerading is for children, love,
and
we are done with games
No hooks
No lines
No sinkers
Just you and I
sharing truths
Witnessing…

I won’t miss you when I’m gone 

Soft rivulets of moon streak and struggle with everything when the sun falls and the darkness creeps in
You never have to guess if night will take your gaze into his mouth and seductively ask you to slow dance at sun down but you’re always asking him
“will the dawn ever fucking break?”
Night seems to stretch around you with his
arms that go on and on and
on
because day doesn’t love you
Not the way night romances you through heaving depths of swell and throws you into every obstacle that has ever met you while meeting you once more
with that wry smile on the other side of those battles
We are not like fixtures,
you and I,
we are more like furniture
We are disposable and migratory
We are here and then
we are tossed aside and labelled lost or buried or burnt
eventually we are forgotten unless we’re named Saint or irrefutably sinner
So no,
I won’t remember you when I’m gone
But the catch is
you won’t remember me either

The garden

In your written words
I see where your voice might have broken
Where you cried is drawn out
in letter shaped lines on
some screen
screaming
“oh, if only you knew!”
But, sweetheart,
I know only too well
If you’d just take a moment and
smell what roses I have grown for you