Sometimes I think I hear you, but you fade so fast. Sometimes I think I taste you, but your essence doesn’t last.

I sometimes call to you in the silences of night. Never knowing if you’ll hear me, but always hoping that you might.

  
So unique is the feeling when fingers entwine. 
Like the fingerprint itself so hard to define.

 For a while I thought  I was broken
Like a loose heel detached from a shoe.
I tried so hard to disguise it
But I couldn’t be repaired with glue.

I waited and waited for what I’m not sure. Maybe for some sense of normalcy to return.

I reached out to that emptiness you offered, that unforgiving coldness available in abundance.

Then it ceased, the yearnings end. I waited. Too long. Lost opportunities gone. I stopped waiting. 

Cages full to the brim with innocent lives.
That’s fear that you smell as they sharpen their knives.

Parading their victims on the streets of Yulin. 

There’s no remorse here, no shame. Just barbaric sin.

Have you witnessed the hell there? Have you turned your back?

Are you void of emotions that’s a life in that sack!

Don’t tell us it’s culture and we don’t understand. 

It’s animal genocide and there’s blood on your hands.

#StopYulin2016 #EndYulinFestival

Please sign this petition.

https://www.change.org/p/stop-the-yulin-dog-meat-eating-festival

He clings to the shore wetsuit zipped tight like a tourniquet against the wind.

Hair bleached driftwood white. Every sinew stretched forth in   yearning. 

If love isn’t painful 

I must have been shot

These scars from the shrapnel?

Itch when I’m hot.

The pains in my chest 
From the surgeons knife?

His invisible blades 

Saving my life?

Was I standing too close

When his gun went off?

All I remember is silence 

  
What is he if not as beautiful as his words.

Flowing within me, infected yet welcomed.

His mouth moves, but it’s his soul that speaks.

In these moments I am alive.

I know his heart I’ve swum in its oceans 

I’ve sheltered in that warmth 

I am not empty without him

I remain all that he gave. 

  Over the woodland the path takes  two different routes. One to the sea down tracks of windswept sands and bracken. 

The other takes you deep into the forest, it’s winding roots pave the way. Branches reach to you like contorted arms through mottled sunlight. 

The windswept path is my most traveled one. On sultry evenings the salty air clings to your skin, like a delicate coating of Iridescent stardust. 

I never walked with you here, yet it’s  where you fill my heart, my thoughts. Here surrounded by these scenes I cherish.

In a certain light his eyes are the deepest blue.Like summer skies warm, inviting.

They contradict what his soul emits. Like the east wind on the cliff top raw, biting. 

Don’t stumble, don’t fall. He won’t save you. Those bluest eyes will just watch as you grasp for understanding.

“The windows of the soul” such a romantic notion. Eyes are a pretence not unlike the ocean. Such breathtaking depth, but so often just shallows.