often i stand at the brink of empty, craving someone's validation, please rest your hand on my head, and mark my growth with a firm line.

light flickers on the last leaves, the storm grey biding, time to haul in and hang on.

who passes the drawn curtains of your room, as you lie facing down the foot end of your bed, 5 years and measuring, how your hair almost touches the floor, busy drawing adventures from the carpets pattern.

we have spent so long together. i try trick quick glances, i try staring, both are blind to appraisal. i have yet to relinquish all the things you are not.

take account of the rage, suffer not alone but held. your place at the table fills the circle.

a colour always moving under eyelids in restless sleep. carrying a message about time, and the loneliness garnered in its passage.

there is a violet fringe to the dark, a colour pulled from the spilling of ink. nothing to measure but the birth of a star.

the fuse of life is short, pay kind tribute to the body in descent.

it's running, the mass is bigger than our span, the surface flips back what we see, shields its depths.

somewhere your fire smoulders, a beacon that pulls me forwards, reading your uncertain signals connects one day to the next.

we want the showman's best elixir, will take any bond for the honeyed light to touch us.

opening your hand there is a hollow where all the creases meet. you show me again how to move between worlds.

we lie together in the mud, you breathe through me still.

transition hides, blind within. the brittle wall of the crucible just enough.

leaf and tree, water and sky a merger that fires my mirror neurons towards love.

you sat tight in the black shell of your SUV, a detonator in the mouth of the city mall, and i saw the insubstantial wings of a moth sucked into stillness on the damp tarmac.

can you feel other options tugging at the wheel?