Number 17

I don’t eat –
my shapes
are the year party
she didn’t attend

Galloping on the high wind
I long for eternity

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Number 15

I chase you memory every night, my love
this bottle helping me recalling
the way your lips curve nearby my skin,
the way your voice tickle my lobes,
the way your chest inflate under my hand.
And when the moon chases me,
      – under the spotlight
I raise up my sight,
and her, from that distance
she can reflect it too
the love I would, every night
give to you.

Number 5

Salty lips
in a salty soul
As you talk
they blame you
Give them a blast
a jump on your wave
A draught across the ears
a lovely bone in the hair
And finally a pillow to rest their hands
while they’re pointing
at you.