Close, oh so close...



/ poetry

26/5/16 Collection of short poems



I wear this tiny

golden piece of you

around my neck,

just above my heart,

it flickers and pulses

as if it has a life of its own

and I caress it

with love

and think of you.



CPR — whisper, speak, shout


This is an affair of the heart.

A heart which was still.

Silent and absent.

My touch, my caress,

my will calling it back.

And it was not there.

It had gone


But I kept calling it,

whispering, speaking,


to that absent heart

And, finally, weirdly,


it came.

Under my touch.



Ode to Jeanette Winterson


We both hear her voice

speaking our words.

We both read her words,

written in our voice.

A third to add to the Kindred?

A soul split in...





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