Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Oh Yes, She Does

Many moons had been mesmerised by our memory,
hanging like docile mobiles in the sky,
awestruck as they watched us fall in love,
idealising the imperfections that disappear inside a kiss.
Remembering the sight of you, smiling up from sheets full of scandal,
I sigh, just as enchanted as the moon, by all that you are.

Let me write one of my stories,
on the softness of your trembling thighs,
violet lights are in this once dark room,
embrace me, and let me light up like the stars,
sunbeams bursting from my soul.

All that I can say, is that I am consumed.
Something about you has me on the hook,
holding me, happily, near or far,
led to your side, with just the recollection of our romance.
I will go to the ends of the Earth, and back again.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Shooting Star

A star fell as the moon made eyes at me,
and I thought about you.
You, so faraway,
fretting and fiddling with your fringe, somewhere in my fantasies,
that faceless shape I ache for when I leave my dreams and land back in reality.


I know you’re out there,
walking the same streets,
whipped up in the same winter wind as it wraps around your scarf and laughs so softly in your ear, just to remind you that you are alive.

I know that you’re somewhere,
breaking down after a hard day,
ordering a takeaway and falling asleep in front of a movie,
wishing you had someone too,
wishing you could find your own… you.

The hills are burning,
my bride,
the valleys are violent once again,
and the rain falls at every opportunity,
but so do stars.
Stars fall,
wishes rise,
hopes hurry forward for their big moment,
and our paths finally cross.
Maybe in a bustling bar?
Maybe on a sunny Sunday?
Packed trains, where my veins are full of rose quartz and the rush of rush hour love.
These are the places I will look for you.


I can see you in the distance.
Not quite clear enough to claim,
but close enough to dream.
Your name is still a jumble of letters that my tongue is waiting to taste,
and your face will one day rest on my pillow,
awoken every morning by a sweet, relieved kiss,
just… not yet.
The world is not done with me yet,
and yet,
I feel like I’m on the way home,
on my way to you.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

White Owls

White owls wail like they’ve heard this tale before,
like they know how it ends,
an endless screech as the sun sets,
but life is full of surprises,
so maybe those wailing warblers will sing a sweet song after all.

I am constricted under the cool glow of my magnificent moon,
she smiles down, as if I am her most treasured daughter,
and with every moment, I am unraveled,
finding freedom as the seconds slip by,
and she whispers warm wishes in my pierced, imperfect ear.

My madness has become a map.
I slink along the streets like a snake,
teddy bear in hand,
wild words between my luscious lips.
The night’s sky is shining and there is a bright light in my eyeline,
for once, I know exactly where I’m going.

Rainbows rise beneath my shoes,
and I don’t sing the blues anymore, my baby blue,
because you are clear within my sights,
and the white owls are jamming to some sweet jazz.