November 6, 2011

I want to carry you like guilt
into a room
smelling of dust and books.

Like all the yesterdays we drowned in,
the mattress on the floor is a truth
waiting to be obscured
by the veils
that protect our songs from the streetlight

then you’ll remind me
that at night
the words that you say
become the oaths that i live by
until I die again

and I will reach for your lips
watching your eyes for danger


You have one new message

October 28, 2010

I want to enter
in an Orca’s pool game of
‘smack the trainer’
while Seaworld watches

Undress in silence
daughter of songs,
Your golden years are not forgotten


I want you
to be the one joke I remember
As I repeat you again and again
until we cannot stand


The sound of your name,
And the sound of my voice
sicken us both

The smell of yesterday’s sex

September 12, 2010

Daylight again
Filters in through dirty curtains
The most intimate of evidence
Still drapes the sofa in
Love’s merciless fallout

Black Choo’s still lie discarded
The silence spreads
Over plates of muesli
She pours me coffee
Which I will not drink

The smell of yesterday’s sex
Still fills her apartment
And I become a dog
Begging mutely
For her flesh

‘Why do you still come in the mornings?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘You know how I mean A’
‘Blow me’
‘No, really. Blow me’


September 9, 2010

She spoke the language of love
with a strong Eastern European accent
Everywhere she went, losers would pretend
to be confident men
and speak to her

She made some losers winners
her long blonde hair in their fist
her mouth encircling their erections
in the most gratifying of ways

Some other losers she ignored
Allowing them to remain losers
(You can still hear their lonely cries echo
through the night as they jump between open tram wagons
Casting a lustful eye on young women going home from bars)

Yet other losers
she would subject to a most cruel torment.
She would call them in the middle of the night
one hand holding her cellphone and
the other between her legs
voice hoarse and husky on the telephone line,
sharp intakes of breath
an unreachable metronome
Her body was a prize to die for, her eyes hard
the line of her mouth unforgiving
and her labia perfect, a gateway to G-d
a doorway to oblivion
far out of reach


August 25, 2010

– Your kitchen is immaculate as always, a kingdom. I am awestruck, speechless, a child entering a magic kingdom of perfection
– Here have some mushrooms and shallots, sautéed in white wine
– Tell me about meats, please, I am famished
– Dripping juicy rump steaks, filet mignons, T-bone steaks, pork fillets, cow’s tongues, pig trotters, racks of ribs, lamb shanks, lamb cutlets, deer fillet, wild boar tournedos, sizzling on grills, pans, frying tables, chicken livers fried with onions, foie gras toast on baguette slices, turkey breast in honey and spices, ostrich medallions in orange sauce, baby chickens on spits, quail marinated for six hours, hard sausages from France, Hungary, Italy, courgettes, aubergines, cucumbers, baby potatoes, plum tomatoes, carrots, smoked salmon fillets, monkfish steaks, braised tuna steaks, halibut, sole, swordfish sashimi, large oysters with shallot dressing, mussels cooked in wine and in beer, raw shrimp on beds of rice and wasabi, white wine from Alsace, Graves, Bourgogne, Montrachet, red wine from Valpolicella, Montepulciano, Brunello, Bordeaux, Champagne from small producers, cognac from private stashes, armagnac
– Stop, I cannot take it, just pause, let me breathe
– Apple pies, plum pies, pear tarts, peach tartines, blueberry shortcakes, cinnamon swirls, custard, chocolate mousse, fruit salad with porto, creme caramel, vanilla and chocolate ice cream, raspberry and lemon sorbet, tea from Ceylon infused with spices with fresh cream, rough hand broken sugar cubes, Swiss chocolat pastilles, truffles, chocolate fondues
– Ah, see how you made me sweat, my whole body is trembling, powerless. Pass me the cigarettes, can I smoke in here?