• iii - The Weather's Beautiful Here
    The mist turned the street lights to stars - their concrete poles hazed as the streets turned into a faded photograph. Amber wicks dying above our heads. The moon tore a spyhole in the sepia and gazed down on us as evening singed the browns around her blazing white eye. Branches cut grey shadows through the dull light. Skeletal hands grasped in vain at the earthbound clouds, their dangling, dead leaves silhouetted: rotten skin peeling from bark bones.

    Your breaths lingered in the wisps that swam around us. I wished for them to carry words. Mutters. Whispers. Instead, they disappeared like the first snow of winter on warm waters.

    Still, we sat and watched
    as the sombre stars vanished
    into falling skies.


    iii - Frostbite
    The air was clearing, reuniting the raindrops with the mesosphere to save them for another day. I could see where the cold had been running her fingernails along your lips - the scratches tainted and flaking. I felt the cracks split under your coarse, dry kiss - spilling heated breaths laced with echoes of everything I wanted to hear. My mouth thawed to allow a lop-sided smile at the thought of a crevasse splitting the wordless atmosphere.

    We sat, hands frozen
    together, as the sunrise
    played with melting ice.


    iii - Untitled
    Jack Frost was loosening his grip on my digits - the ice under my nails gently warming and leaving behind a numb sensation of pin-p***k-heat. The shy stars had slipped behind the new sky, but I could still see them sprinkled over the greens of your eyes.

    You stood and I followed. My legs woke from their sleep - creaking like a dying oak in relentless winds. Our soles set to tracing the paths, the tarmac shining like onyx in the morning sun.

    The endless roads led
    to everywhere but home,
    and we haunted them -
    unaware we were sketching
    our devotion on the earth.