turned on white and black torchiere lamp
Photo by Steve Johnson on



I love the way your halves combine.
I love the way you place each lung
With careless grace and good design
On either side your centre line,
And equidistant from your spine.
I love the way your ribs are strung.

I love the way your shoulders fit,
I love the way your arms construe.
I love the way your kidneys sit,
So each, the other mirrors it
To keep the couple quite legit.
I love the way your hips are two.

I love the way you wear your legs,
So nicely paired, and just enough:
For with a third, the question begs
Of where upon your frame it pegs.
I love the way you keep to regs.
I love the way you’re up to snuff.

I love your face with eye and eye,
I love the way they both are blue.
I love the way they flit and fly
In unison, to watch me pry
Upon thy tygrish symmet-try.
I love the way you’re balanced-through.


The penultimate line is inspired by how I always read the fourth line of a certain poem of William Blake’s.




broken heart love sad
Photo by burak kostak on



I offered to take her to Pisa –
I knew she’s never been.
I offered the beauties of Giza,
And everywhere between.
I offered her Sinan and Plato and Gluck,
I offered her Ozu and Donne
I offered her Titian and Tolstoy and Hooke,
And ev’rything, ev’rything under the sun.
The whole of the planet was waiting before us,
And all of its wonders were ours.
But no, she left with the stranger from Taurus –
I could not compete with the stars.



Soul Lights

detail from Experiment with an Air Pump by Joseph Wright



Perhaps she is just a chimera,
Or otherwise born with this curious guise;
For everytime that I’m near her,
I cannot but help to look into her eyes.
Perhaps she has suffered a trauma,
Where blood is now staining her iris tattoo
That partially came to transform her,
With one eye of hazel, the other of blue.
And further, her hazel is golden
Encircling her iris, but greener beyond.
Her stare surely has me beholden,
Her pupil eclipsing its het’rochrome pond.
No contacts nor tumours nor ’Shop-tricks
Are needed to give them what rarely occurs.
If souls can be glimpsed in our optics,
Then softly she carries a rainbow in hers.




Woman Writing a Letter
detail from Woman Writing a Letter by Gerard ter Borch


Her lovers’ ink, the sneerful think,
Is sentimental brine –
But no, I say, for each cliché
Is lyricment divine !
The very fact her tritesome pact
Is heaped upon my shrine
Is surely worth all laboured birth –
Her rapturelust is mine !
Her spotted graft becomes a draught
Of witticismic wine;
Her passion grows in purple prose,
To bloom incarnadine.

Caveat Emptor

Quentin Massys
detail from The Moneylender & His Wife by Quentin Metsys


Caveat Emptor

You need saving, I think, you need saving-
I don’t know from what, but you need it, and I got it.
I choose to lease myself as investment in your craving,
(Though nothing gets refunded, as your credit-rating’s rotted.)
You think I look expensive, and you think you can’t afford it:
When your faith is unsecured, and your int’rest rate obsessed.
With all emotions overdrawn, your hope is due an audit –
Now you’re out of guarantee and about to be possessed.

Expensive ?  Me ?  Most surely yes,
And very very dear –
I will cost you ev’ry single thing, and nothing less;
I will cost you all you know, and all that you express:
Your ev’ry laugh and ev’ry scream,
Your ev’ry try and ev’ry guess,
And I will cost your ev’ry lie, and ev’ry truth sincere.
Your ev’ry insecurity and neurologic mess –
They all belong to me, you hear ?
Mine is your perdition, absolution and confess,
Mine the power to repress,
Mine the power to redeem.
I shall be your angel engineer,
To grease your thread and mesh your gear,
And shine your rusting soul with my caress.

You need saving, I think, you need saving-
God knows as from what  –  you don’t know it, but you’ll get it.
I choose to bond myself upon the markets that you’re braving,
Expose my soul to risk until we’re equally indebted.
You think I look expensive as I gilt your fraying edges,
But you’ll enter into contract on my exponential sureties.
My platinum promissory shall underwrite your pledges
As you finally take stock of all your life-assured securities.

Dizzying ?  Me ?  Forever yes,
And very very sheer –
I shall cost you ev’ry single thing that you possess
I shall cost your ev’ry hope, and watch them coalesce.
Your presentide is mine to gleam
Your morrowment is mine to bless
And though I know this terrifies, I’ll help you persevere.
For mine shall be your ev’ry waking thought and sleeping dream,
Mine your ev’ry failing scheme,
Mine your ev’ry sweet success.
Guilt and joy and lust and fear
Cost far more than money mere,
These are how you pay for me, by bushel, peck and ream.
And then, what is more, I press
My darling with an added stress:
For not just shall you suffer this to give your love supreme;
But now you must attend my tear –
For like you, I too revere:
So you must accept the very same from my extreme.
Give my passions safe address,
For we are quartz, my love, and we are steam.



The Ant-Days of Summer

flying ant


The Ant-Days of Summer

I think it must have been a day
When ants were flying
In July.
A long and hot and wingèd day
When ants were flying
By and by.
And that was when we chanced to meet,
With grounded ants about our feet.

Those virgin queens and horny males,
On scorching days
In late July.
The queens fly fast to test the males
On scorching days
When ants must fly.
The lads were swarming when we met –
But then, one shot is all they get.

The lucky males take turns to mate
With picky queens
In late July.
Upon the wing, the ants shall mate –
As jacks and queens
Shall fill the sky.
And I met you beneath their flights,
With royal weddings in our sights.

The girls bite off their wings to reign
As wingless queens
In late July
These girls will never fly again –
But hey, the queens
At least don’t die !
And you and I were changing lives,
As queens got down to digging hives.




Albino Lisa



Her hair is purest white, not quite,
Her skin is hinted bisque,
Her eyes are palest blue in hue,
Her lips are coral kissed.
Her subtleties of shade displayed
Are never blanched, but lush;
And with a gentle goose, educe
A gorgeous crimson blush.



I would just like to add thatb the goose was consentual.