you are my confetti of cherry blossoms
scattered about the pavement
adored and singularly delightful.
thoughts of you explode
during spring afternoons
like piñatas floating through the sky, wrapped in their papier-mâché of
hot air balloons filled with sprinkles.
you arrive on a saturday, tanned and beautiful
for my birthday
filled with wishes and wine
company, conversation
and kisses.
and there you stood before me
in that field
i felt the warmth of the night
through your fingertips
the grandeur of the fire lit sky
seemed to fly its colours over the hills
like a striped kite
as we watched it
mend and sew the stars slowly
with its movement
the stars-
so glorious!
like sprinkled powdered sugar
delicious
belonging only to us
a celebration of spirits
the adventure looked endless
in awe of the possibility that neither of us
would let it end
you wrapped your body
into the armchair that was me
and relaxed your head
upon my breast
i knew i would love you forever.
October days…
Fleets of ships in a Chocolate square
And your eyes
Far from cocoa.
Near a mustard building
Where a famed fiddle plays.
Picture me in a crowd
On a royal red perch
And you traveled six grand to find me.
Stuffing your fair pudgy fingers into empty pockets
Your apologies were so amusing
And you finally found a fiver.
Switch to conversation
Of which I couldn’t understand a word
save for Diarmuid—
I got that much.
Your accent so thick, your eyes so blue
You asked if you could follow me to the ladies room
and offered to hold my drink
while some guy shouted his love for me.
You seemed impressed that I didn’t know him
And I declined the offer, explaining later–why.
I read you rightly and completely
And accepted your invitation
To the Fillmore.
Walking in
A mountain of snow
A broken glass table
And a room full of women.
I’d lie to say I wasn’t intrigued.
Cut to 5am
You in a cab with a mug full of brandy
Following me home for that glass of red wine.
Conversation crept into dawn
And kissing you for ages felt like a dream
Under my net
and that green star lit sky
that was my room.
You.
You loved maroon walls and the Prince of Denmark.
You, who constructed your history to complement mine.
You, who waited twelve hours to call me.
Me, whose only love was you.
it felt strange sleeping in a place where you had existed for so long.
me lying there wondering how we had come so far from the time where
you loved me – and i staring up at the photo of you by the door feeling
like a stranger. an intruder staring into your blank eyes, finally
seeing a vision of hopelessness for the first time.
how sober time can make us…
unrecognisable you, staring down at me.
a glimpse of your past or my future – was i right to come?
You unrolled me
Like that old blanket
Nestled in your closet
Collecting dust.
Peeling layer upon layer
Pulling me apart
Raw—
Twisted
My soul that I swallowed
Ages ago, resting in
Your eyes
Of granite,
Calm.
Like sitting on a park bench
Sleepy
In that Saint’s Green
Where the diamond freckles
Of your eyes sparkle, and
Invite me to love again.
Wind me up
Like a vine
Around you close.
Weave your limbs through me
And turn the sky a Technicolor grey.
Fill me with your milkshake–
So blue.
Sink like syrup into our gate
Break the lock, let no one in–
Climb into us
Our flat so warm
Our future now here
Our plans realized.
Recovery feels like purging myself from an
Endless black sea.
Noon arrived
With my head above the tide
Breathing effortlessly;
Absent of any memory of you.
The light looked different this day
In Plaza Dorrego.
Trees seemed to sway –
Delicately
While the promise of
Self doubt: Abolished –
Due to your absence
Seemed exhilarating!
You –
A tragedy no more,
Us –
Completely meaningless
In my autobiography.
How contemporary freedom feels.
The other woman in your life has a sinister sense of humour.
Sometimes I lie awake at night and catch a glimpse of her making love to you as I sleep.
I travel to the other side of bed
Feeling sick that I can’t make you sweat like her. Your expression, dreamy and light
While I silently cry to an untitled track
That spells the story of my life…
The moonlight drips in.
How come I never heard this tune before?
I turn to wake you, yet you are cold and weak.
You–who think you, are stronger than I.
And I await you with a soaked towel for your head
and a kiss for a swollen tongue.
Love today
wait —
maybe tomorrow.
Tomorrow’s here —
then another gone
then
Love!
Yesterday…
yesterday’s Love,
far away
away from today
of all days
when I need it most.
Maybe tonight?
Tonight is gone —
as is my Love;
yesterday’s Love
so out of reach!
Trying to remember when
yesterday’s Love was
tomorrow’s…
If i could get back to
tomorrow
will i get my Love back?
Would tomorrow’s Love
from yesterday’s
be today’s?
Wait…
And then i wait —
and yet again wait.
And try to remember
to Love today –
catch Love today,
keep Love today,
hold Love today,
live Love today,
hope there is Love today!
That it doesn’t get lost
in yesterday
or in anticipation of tomorrow.
Wait…
A single red tulip
Beckoning me from plastic shelves
Bargained with me for my future
So I shelved out the cash.
Words dripped from my quill like fire
The streams resembled tears I had offered
In so many places
Unnoticed by you.
Arriving at the tower of Tales —
In a garden of Great
I met you at the gate.
Unchanged by your reaction,
Encouraged that you took the card
I hurried to take my seat like the Greeks
Unnerved by the bottle of bubbly apparent for the celebration I would take no part in —
So I stole my friend in the rain
And took a blue train home.
Only months later would I find strength to leave
When I found that card
Halved in your box
The writing now hidden
And the boy smiling forward, sharing the flower
You intended
Not for me.
I love you
Like paint.
You stick to me and I swirl around in it —
Your Limerick boyhood charm.
Skip to the shop
Pick up goodies for my birthday breakfast that
We failed to eat.
Your history,
My future —
I have you
And Prague.
Your preoccupation with my weight was popular,
I played into your
Dirty American tabloid —
You sold me on it.
I begged you for more
Like a junkie —
Hunger consumed me all day.
Your diatribe, so succinct and refined
I felt like the muse of your fairy tale.
Perfection
In a fabled land constructed by you
Is futile.
Still I wore your clothes
Your hair —
Your voice,
Your smell.
I even wrote your music for you —
And lost the only thing that made me unique
Myself.
drunk butterfly 