The Wanton Silk


*Image found HERE

The Wanton Silk


Concern eats away at me;

We fumble down the loom

for space.

With no laundry line

between everything and nothing,

my hair wants to sprawl

on your sun-lit bed

like piss does on snow.


In the cross-hair

the Aquarian shakes

with the pitcher;

it rains in droves,

like bogey jingles;

there, alive, then gone.


It is easier

when fiddling with the frequency.

It’s pronounced timid,

to grab as many tomatoes

as my hands can carry

and leave the tender


for he did not pick and measure

for me.

I think of your face,

but when asked what ails me

I say



I worry you will


the molecules, the telephone, my voices;

my heart beyond the means

of blood pump

which keeps my body going.

Loving with profanity

is yelling loudly,

like a cricket;

neurosis in detention 

with her eye

peeling history books

like a bored child would

love a freshly painted wall.


It will all keep going;

new trees whisper by the brook,

you make me the kind of blue

a sailor would want

to swivel in a bottle;

the bird in my windowsill

just had babies.

Pruned wastelands rot away nameless.

Should it be so?

The meadows are vomiting

colourful flowers;

the songs of the drunktards

about somebody else;

Please, don’t go.

11 responses to “The Wanton Silk”

  1. Why does it sound soo damn good!

    1. Does it? To me it sounds like drivel, just one I could not keep in! Thank you very much for reading!

      1. It is indeed really soothing not drivel.

      2. Thank you very much, your comment made my day 🙂

  2. Oh dear, your poetry simply next level.. I can just sit in awe and try to decode all different meanings.

    1. Thank you very much Neeraj! It astounds me how much I try to simply decorate stating that I am sad 🙂

      1. Sometimes, I feel like sadness is a prerequisite to be a poet. Anyways, if you need a friend, just drop by whenever you feel like. We’ll sit and watch the stars. (You know what I mean.)

      2. I do, and likewise to you! 🙂

      3. Sure. I hope you’re safe there.

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About Me

I don’t mind the sun sometimes,
the images it shows,
I can taste you on my lips
and feel you in my clothes.
Cinnamon and sugary
and softly spoken lies,
you never know just how you look
through other people’s eyes


Colour me in Cayenne & Chlorine Poetry Collection
Suburban Witchcraft Magazine
Colour me in Cyanide and Cherries Poetry Collection

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