1 – Reciprocity
I am the plug that powers up in your socket,
The engine firing when you turn the key,
The baseball flying skyward when you knock it,
The swimmer cradled in your deep blue sea:
You are the wild woods for my Davy Crockett,
You are the lock that shuts and sets me free,
You are the chain that grips and drives my sprocket,
You are ten sugars in my cup of tea:
And I’m the crossword happy when you crack it,
And you’re the tree my ivy twines about,
You are the string that’s wound around my packet
That helps to stop its insides spilling out –
I feel you hug me, like a leather jacket,
That one day I am going to freeze without.
2 – Suspense
These are the ways you keep me in suspense:
No answers back for ages, if at all,
But building up a silence so intense
That I can only break it with a call.
And when I come you keep me waiting still
Shut in a room, or naked on my knees,
Until I understand this is your will
And nothing happens now, except you please:
Hung up in chains and harnesses and swings
You take away my senses bit by bit:
A blindfold, so I cannot tell what things
Will touch me next, or where the blows will hit -
And that’s when I begin to spread my wings
And fly with you, instead of fighting it.
3 – Rock
Awake too early. Four or five o’clock.
And something strange has happened in my bed:
While I was sleeping, someone stole my cock
And left behind a stick of rock instead.
And if I’d also gone and lost my mind
And snapped this sticky bit of rock in two,
I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find
That your initials run the whole way through:
Because it’s yours, as much as mine, this rock:
I haven’t had these seaside souvenirs
Appearing in my bed at five o’clock
As often as they do, for years and years:
(It isn’t stripey yet, I’m glad to say,
But other bits could soon be turned that way…)
4 – Wax play
I feel just like the candle in your hand
That’s tilted at me now – we’re both on fire:
And when you touch me, I can hardly stand
But melt away, consumed with this desire.
You let the waxy tears drop on my skin -
They sting me for a second, then they’ve dried -
Their action’s like the pricking of a pin -
It helps to ease a bigger pain inside:
You make me weep as well: a flood of tears –
In lots of colours – red, transparent, cream:
And as you do, the cloud I’m under clears -
My body flows towards you in a stream:
The candlelight looks lovely – all the same
I wish your face was lit up by my flame.
5 – When dreams come true
They’re true enough – those things that people say:
I know it now you’ve swept me off my feet -
You spin me round, and take my breath away,
And burn me deeply, with a lasting heat.
It’s literally true, and not a lie:
You leave me speechless, and you pierce my breast,
The closer that you are, the more I sigh -
You see me as I am – naked, undressed.
This is what happens, then, when dreams come true:
I get tied up, and lashed upon a wheel:
And now there’s nothing in my head but you -
How happy – and how crap – you make me feel:
Is what we share together fake or real?
Or something in between? I wish I knew.
6 – Raw
Well yes, to start with, sitting down can hurt
Though I confess, that feeling’s pretty nice -
Sore nipples rub themselves against my shirt,
But that just means I get to taste it twice:
The cane’s initials blur into a haze
Of purple, then turn yellow, then they go:
That butterfly you paint is dead in days
That bunch of flowers, in a week or so.
But in my head the wound is always raw:
And just a couple kissing, or a song
Can be enough to make me bleed some more.
I’m like a planet with a liquid core,
Marooned in space, not sure where I belong:
And all my instruments, it seems, are wrong.
7 – Screwed
When I was ten I’d toss myself to sleep
With dreams of being captured, bound & stripped,
Then dragged before a Queen in caverns deep
Who’d take one look at me, and have me whipped.
And thrashing in my bed, with every thrust
I fertilized my pleasure with this pain,
I scribbled on & screwed that virgin lust -
In fact, to put it bluntly, fucked my brain.
That Lakeland bloke was right about the child:
I made myself, back in that narrow bed -
A strange old piece of work, uniquely styled -
And yet I wouldn’t choose a different head:
Particularly now, that you’re inside,
And opening me up so very wide.
8 – Hooked
The moment that your shadow crossed the stream
I knew it meant my liberty’s eclipse -
Those thigh-high boots like waders, & your whip’s
Astonishing announcement, like a scream.
And I was lost & moving in a dream,
Lulled by your lovely smile & fingertips,
And when that sweet bait tickled at my lips
I opened up and swallowed it like cream:
Next thing I’m hooked and hoisted somewhere strange,
My mouth & body flapping side to side,
Just waiting for your knife to re-arrange
All that I was, and have me baked, or fried.
Or, if I’m lucky, for an afternoon,
Kept in your net, and then released too soon.
9 – Ripped
What does it mean, to say that I’m your slave?
Not feeding you with grapes while you recline,
Or working in the field, or herding swine,
Or being disembowelled across your grave:
It means this partly – learning to behave
The way you want me – being kept in line,
And it means being ripped from what was mine
Into another world that’s new and brave:
A foreign climate: unfamiliar fruit –
And thoughts of you that make me melt and swell:
Soft whispers that invade me and take root –
And it means, also, missing you like hell
Until I’m once again beneath your boot
And suffering – then everything is well.
10 – Warped
So I’m a door. What kind? An ancient oak
Complete with woodworm, iron studs & bars,
Or something arty-farty & bespoke
That might appeal to Euro-movie stars?
An elegant French window, full of panes,
Or something cheap & rough chopped out of pine,
A Georgian piece with multicoloured stains
Or 60s relic, with a toilet sign.
Perhaps a warped old board that sticks a bit,
And needs a draught excluder and a curtain,
Or anything that’s awkward and won’t fit -
Whatever kind of kit, one thing’s for certain:
That even at the gentlest push from you
I swing wide open, and you walk in through.
11 – Thanks
Thanks, obviously, for the cane and crop,
The paddle, whip and tawse across my cheek,
That mad tattoo I hope’ll never stop
Until I’m in the middle of next week;
Thanks for the needles stitched into my skin,
For pegs that pinch, and parachutes that pull,
For harnesses that put me in a spin,
And pain that lands me somewhere beautiful.
But thanks, too, for the lightness of your touch
When I’ve been troubled, and for taking me
Just seriously enough, but not too much -
For setting that bird trapped inside me free:
Thanks for your passion, & your poise & flair -
For being good to me, & being there.
12 – That other place
So often, in those stories, you’ll hear mention
Of an entrance, incantation or machine,
That spirits you into a new dimension
By breaking through the iron gates between -
And when you’re young you hope that it’ll happen,
Go rummaging through wardrobes, hugging rocks,
In search of levers letting life spring open
Just like Jack escaping from his box.
Somehow I’ve found it, walking through your door:
That other place, where different rules apply -
So many things that puzzled me before
Make perfect sense, beneath your magic sky:
So I’ll enjoy it, till the path gets blocked,
The words stop working, and the gates are locked.
13 – Pinched
Like clamps upon my nipples nice and tight
Not seeing you for weeks can squeeze me so -
No longer pink and plump but pinched and white
As if there’s places where my blood won’t flow:
And all those things you give me tug and stretch
The way your fingers yank me with a chain,
Then I’m a dog not happy till I fetch
Those babies back beneath your heel again
To get a bit more stick. As for the wait
(Whichever way it’s spelt) that’s heavy too:
And nothing I can do can reinflate
This flat balloon until I’m back with you
And get that sudden blood rush through my head
(And have my nipples really squeezed, instead).
14 – Bold
So bold with me, so beautifully bold
You build me up so high, then push me low,
Climb straight into my head and catch tight hold
Shake all my limits skywards as you go:
You melt me down and pour me in a mould
And shape me to your pleasure as I flow -
My compass needle fixed upon your cold
Unconquerable north of ice and snow:
Having your fun with me, so very gently
Edging me where I never thought I’d be -
Out on a ridge or rope-bridge – evidently
Knowing what I need much more than me:
Like something meant – a sword within a lake -
This gift was always there, for you to take.
15 – Tent
Next time you’re camping, take me as your tent:
Insert some poles to help me keep in shape
And ropes through every opening and vent
Then tie me down so that I can’t escape:
And when it’s wet and cold I’ll keep you dry,
And when it’s windy, shelter you within,
And when the heat is beating down I’ll try
To offer you some comfort in my skin:
So in the morning zip me up, desert me,
Leave me stretched and pegged upon a hill -
And though your going every day might hurt me,
Every night you know I’ll be there still,
And waiting like a shell till you convert me –
Empty spaces only you can fill.
16 – Like being
Like being filled up to the lips with laughter
Like being hugged & held so very tight
Like being taken care of & looked after
Like being healed and, for a while, put right
Like being laid wide open & not minding
Like being someone I was meant to be
Like being somewhere I’d not dreamt of finding
Like being inched towards infinity
Like being lifted up & out of trouble
Like being floated off into the west
Like being in your bright inflated bubble
Like being kissed all over & caressed
Like being my divinely wicked double -
I just don’t know which one I like the best.
17 – Sweets
It can be tricky, in a sweetie-shop,
To choose exactly what you want to eat:
Perhaps I’ll take that massive lollipop
Though stripey canes are always hard to beat -
Gobstoppers, gumballs, liquorice laces, whips -
Black toffee that’ll stick around my teeth
Soft centres made to trickle through my lips
A chocolate fountain I can lie beneath -
Some waxy-coated nuts to crunch, perhaps,
A bag of pear drops, sharp and hard as flint
Marshmallows, jellies, fizzy sherbet, snaps:
Who am I kidding? Like a cool white mint,
You’ll walk in soon, and tell me what to do:
Give me delicious things to lick, suck, chew.
18 – Breath
Hand over mouth and fingers round my nose:
I won’t be breathing now until you let me,
And only getting near the edge will set me
Free, when you can see my twitching toes
And writhing panic’s more than just a pose.
Your hands are like a trap in which you net me,
Cut me into pieces then reset me,
Carving poems out of my dull prose.
It’s long and deep and dark, this game we play:
Some images you stamp into my mind
Will take an age to soften & decay -
Not like the other marks you leave behind –
When you have left forever, these will stay,
A stone enslaving, well and truly signed.
19 – Secret garden
And some have come as saplings, some as seeds,
And some are grand and handsome, some are plain,
The lucky ones are those she keeps to train
According to her wishes and their needs;
And luckiest of all are those she feeds
With tender care, as well as sun and rain,
And if they falter, props them up again
And plucks them out from in amongst the weeds:
And some she likes to pin against a wall,
And some are cropped into a shape so neat,
And some are wild, and some are stretched out tall,
Some weave a carpet for her lovely feet:
Whichever place she picks for us, we all
Combine to make her pleasure more complete.
20 – Hurt
Back on the slab, slit open like a fish:
One long straight cut that links my throat and groin:
I’m wondering now if this is what you wish:
To spread my ribs until they’ll never join
Back properly again, plunge in your fist
And grip my heart the way you grab my balls
To squeeze & squash it, torture it & twist
Until it won’t stop aching. Something falls
Inside me, like a river, all day long:
Like shadows, after sunlight, twice as grey:
Because you’ve left, because I cannot stay
Can only visit sometimes, not belong.
And like a gambler, out to lose his shirt,
Keep coming back to you, keep getting hurt.
21 – Shaved
I should have learned by now to keep it shut,
Not mention how you like to shape your toys:
You take a razor to my balls & cut
The hair back till they’re like a little boy’s:
Thank you, dear Mistress, for this constant itch -
So sweetly does it match the one inside;
Sometimes it’s hard to work out which is which,
Your torments not just summed, but multiplied.
You’re in my head with every step I take -
I’m fully dressed, & yet completely bare,
Stark bollock naked now, and no mistake,
You peel me back until I’ve nothing there:
Laid open yet again, left babbling, but
Perhaps one day I’ll learn to keep it shut.
22 – Kink
The trouble is, it’s not the kinky stuff
That gets to me the most, it’s not the cane
That cuts me, & it’s not the strap or cuff
That stops me running out into the rain -
It’s not the pain that makes me cry enough
It’s not the candle burning in my brain
Which tells me that perhaps I’m not so tough
And says I shouldn’t meet with you again:
It’s not the kinky stuff, or what we do,
But what we don’t, and all the gaps between:
Those glimpses of the rest and best of you,
More than a plastic goddess, or a queen:
Both more & less, as I am less & more
Than that strange love we come together for.
23 – Origins
(7 – Screwed, Revisited)
We’re in the kitchen. God knows what I’ve done,
But judging by the look upon his face
The next few minutes won’t be too much fun.
I don’t know if it’s falling out of grace,
His giant anger blotting out the sun,
Or panic over what will soon take place,
But everything that can begins to run:
Piss down my legs, tears from my eyes, thoughts race
Around my head, but can’t find an escape
Or couldn’t then, or there: though in those years
A way of winning did, perhaps, take shape
In my imagination, in that dream
Of being bound & whipped: which stopped my tears
And turned my piss, amazingly, to cream.
24 – Birthday
Sharing a birthday – what’s the odds of that?
Coincidences working overtime,
Fate weaving us together in a plait,
Some crazy author making sure we rhyme.
Both Geminis, both blossoming in June,
Both with a summer body-clock supplied -
It’s not surprising if I feel in tune,
Or sense you touch me somewhere deep inside.
One birthday back when I was just a kid
I got this perfect present (even though
It took me years to find where it was hid -
And still can’t quite unwrap it, as you know).
These are the ways in which I try & bring
You closer to me, when you’re no such thing.
25 – Swimming
The waves today were just the way they should be -
Blonde highlights up above me, cold & strong,
And for a while it made me feel I could be
In my element, where I belong:
But give it half an hour & then I’m shaking,
Washed up like some flotsam on the shore:
And evening comes & finds me bruised & aching
(Which doesn’t mean I won’t be back for more.)
I can’t be sure exactly what I’m after:
Is it just my masochism, or
Something deeper, something even darker -
Oblivion, perhaps, I’m looking for?
The sea’s a goddess: treat her with respect,
Or run the risk of being ruined, wrecked.
26 – Deeper
With every stroke I keep on getting deeper,
I’m weakening inside your cold, blue swell,
This slope I’m going down is always steeper,
And I’ve got no way of stopping I can tell:
I’m moving to the edge now, like a sleeper,
And there’s nothing I can do to break your spell,
If I’m your slave, does that make you my keeper?
Can you hurt me to the core, but hold me well?
You’ve got me, if you want me, and I wonder
If there’s anything I wouldn’t let you do:
That’s how deep beneath your influence I’m under,
Looking up in utter bafflement at you,
As you tear my old defences all asunder:
You conquer me, because I want you to.
27 – Storm
No, you’re not with me, when the strong wind strips
The trees around me naked, shaves them bare -
Sends all that bruised pride tumbling through the air,
Unpeeling summer till it spills its pips:
And you’re not with me when the long thin whips
Of branches cut across my face, & tear -
When breezes blow without a breath to spare
And shut my eyes & stopper up my lips:
And you’re not with me, high upon a hill
The morning after suffering that storm
Moving without warning into stillness –
Peace, unlooked for, longed for: sweet & warm:
And you’re not with me, though it seems you are:
Close by, but unimaginably far.
28 – Fall
Sometimes the gentlest whisper’s all it takes -
The leaves have grown so green-less, loose & dry,
There’s nothing left for them to do but fly
They peel away in pale & lifeless flakes:
And there’s a thinned out piece of me that aches
To be set free like them, to swirl & die -
Then tumble in amongst them where they lie,
Crushed underfoot, or pinned and scraped with rakes.
There’s something in me longing for that word
To leave your lips & blow me into space,
However short the journey, or absurd,
To be refined, like beaten gold or lace:
To feel for just one minute like a bird
As bright & weightless & as full of grace.
29 – Waiting
(23 – Origins, An answer)
I’m in the chamber, waiting on my knees;
Uneasy, naked, needing to be filled -
With what, and when, and how, is as you please
And then, if I’m extremely lucky, spilled.
The faintest sound above me makes me freeze
And everything except my blood is stilled:
I’m locked up tight already without keys,
Stretched out across this fine suspense you build:
It’s like I’m home. One of your lazy tracks
Plays in the background & it takes my cares
And shakes them out between the floorboards’ cracks.
And then, as if in answer to my prayers,
My crazy heart leaps up to hear the stacks
Of your high heels, as they come down the stairs.
30 – A piece of art
She keeps the most immaculate control
Of both of us – her whippy cane, and me:
Takes one & with it makes the other whole,
Composes lines of perfect symmetry.
She plays us, like the fiddle and the bow,
The brush & canvas, inky pen & page:
Though none of them can match the fiery glow
That happens when the two of us engage:
And from that blow the blessings ripple out
Like words through time, or music through the air:
Change as they go, develop, turn about,
Make me ecstatic, mellow, more aware
Of others, & more patient. Pierce my heart
With joy & sadness. Like a work of art.
31 – Lines
My fingers trace the lines you wrote last week
Across my backside with such wicked style:
Twelve months ago I would have run a mile
But now I love the language that they speak.
It’s like a lipstick kiss upon my cheek
That won’t rub out (at least, not for a while)
And every time I touch it makes me smile -
An instant tickle of my inner freak.
And it’s a map you’ve left on my behind
Which lets me travel down that rough, straight track
And feel your force again inside my mind -
Though it reminds me, too, of what I lack
And what I lose each day, and only find,
So very briefly, if I journey back.
32 – Lake
This lake I like to visit has a sheen,
Which makes the world inside it shine so much -
My body longs to slide its way between
To where the weeds and tangled bushes clutch.
I know its surface hides a pit of mud:
Those golden trees suspended upside down
Are growing nowhere, cannot ever bud,
And if I stay too long in there, I’ll drown:
I know it’s an illusion: all it takes
Is movement, like the ripples from a stone,
And then that world which seems so solid shakes
In pieces, and I’m once again alone:
Which doesn’t mean I’m not in love with lakes,
And I don’t hunger for the things they’ve shown.
33 – You know what this is
You know what this is, when your body sings,
Unstoppably, a brand new song each night;
When days flood over with the tears of things,
And you think you’re a bird, but you’re a kite,
Caught in her hand, pretending you’ve got wings:
And all the wavy patchwork world in sight
Is colourless & flat, unless it brings
Her closer, or you make believe it might:
You know what this is, when you hunt the net
To catch a glimpse of her your soft heart misses
As much as sunlight, when you’d rather get
One pinch from her, than scores of others’ kisses:
She touches you like no-one else you’ve met.
Don’t kid yourself that you don’t know what this is.
34 – Stitching
The skills my lady has are quite bewitching,
Elegant, and certain to entice:
A mistress of so many arts, like stitching -
Her needlework so perfect and precise.
I love the way, to stop her canvas twitching,
She first secures it in a framed device,
Then weaves on it a lesson so enriching
Sometimes it strikes me precious beyond price.
So many more: the instruments she plays with -
Both beautifully forceful, yet restrained,
The little treats she likes to load her tray with,
The subtle games that keep her entertained:
And pets, of course, that she may spend a day with,
To teach them tricks, and make them better trained.
35 – Barcode
I’ve got this barcode on my backside, look:
A block of lines, some thin, one very thick,
They witness to the tender care you took
The last time that you beat me with a stick.
It isn’t easy, reading what they say -
It changes daily, as the marks become
More blurred & faded, but I thought today
They told me I was just another bum
You’re happy to be stamping, not much more.
You open me wide up, then walk away.
Leave me to pick my pieces off the floor:
And light years later, back on my home planet,
I check the barcode out again, rescan it,
Wonder if it’s more than I can pay.
36 – Afterwards
I’m in my spaceship racing back to earth,
But burning up inside instead of out,
I’m going through the opposite of birth,
Like water being pushed back up a spout:
I’m being squeezed back up my rabbit hole,
I’m Jack back in his box, or Steve Mcqueen
Locked in his cooler – not a single soul
To tell about the places that I’ve been:
I miss you. Miss the pain we make together.
Miss you, like a boat the plunging sea,
Or like a moleskin coat its meant-for weather,
Miss you, like I’ve left a piece of me
Up there in orbit, floating like a feather,
About as far away as it could be.
37 – Afterwards, 2
You’re not so well, a cold has caught your throat
And quelled your voice, that’s usually so clear,
Into a scratchy whisper, split that note
I’d crawl across a gravel pit to hear.
It doesn’t stop you. Just like me, most things
Won’t stop you, when you’ve once made up your mind:
And soon enough my shaking body sings
In pain & wonder, as my knots unwind.
Then afterwards, you sit back on your throne,
Your hand up to your throat, as I get dressed.
Back in our shells again, and on our own,
However much we’ve touched. Perhaps at best
We bring each other something we can use,
Get what we can, excitement, cash, a bruise.
38 – Initials
Initially: it’s how we correspond -
First letters only (even names get cropped)
Abbreviated like the time we spend,
Transported somewhere capital, then dropped.
Initials, where the start becomes the end:
A brand above a very special shop,
A single malt distilled, and not a blend,
Some creamy richness rising to the top.
But still, it’s only bits of us that meet:
The front you show that fragile piece of me,
Two fractions adding up to something neat,
And music that we make so swishily
Resolving now into a single beat:
Not how I thought it was, initially.
39 – Needles
There’s obviously only one can win it.
This nipple here, however hard it grows,
Will never stop the needle pushing in it
(A bit like paper/scissors I suppose):
It doesn’t open easily, my skin, it
Pulls away, but soon your thin point sews
Itself into me, puts me in a spin, it
Punctures me: and then my river flows
Into a flood, a waterfall, a force
(Though it’s one drop of blood that dribbles out):
It makes me feel as if I’m back on course,
Inhabited, made much of, looped about:
These shining threads that link me to my source.
The winner? There was never any doubt.
40 – Makeover
As creepy as it sounds, I kept this room
Locked up for years, let no-one look inside,
Until one day you swept me open wide
Tore down my cobwebs, emptied out my gloom.
I wonder sometimes when you’ll have your fill
Of dusty chambers: this one may not be
So very special either, but to me
The time you’ve spent inside it always will:
And what you’ve done as well, in that short while:
Shone light & colour into all its dark
And scary corners, really made your mark
Redecorating me with taste & style:
In fact, next time they ask you, what’s your line,
You could just say: Interior Design.
41 – Thriller
Not a romance: a mystery, or thriller
That sticks me on the knife edge of my seat,
A twist on every page, a touch more heat:
And me without a clue which one’s the killer:
I’m only sure that something very shocking
Lurks around the corner: and it’s clear -
Particularly at this time of year -
That you’re the perfect way to fill a stocking:
I keep on sneaking just another look
Although it only leaves me more perplexed -
O don’t you know you’ve got me on a hook
And I can’t wait to find out what comes next:
The truth is that you write me like a book,
And line by line I turn into your text.
42 – MK
You MaKe me shake as soon as you arrive,
And MarK my body out with wood & steel.
You MaKe me feel like I was half alive
Until we met: you MasK, and I reveal.
You MaKe me into someone else: a MonK
Who punishes My sKin so that you smile,
A single kind reMarK and I go drunk
Not hearing from you turns my MilK to bile.
So MaKe yourself at home inside my head
Until my candle disappears in sMoKe
And you go sMacKing someone else instead
And we stop laughing at this Massive joKe:
But your initials, even when we do,
Will MocK my armour still, & run me through.
43 – Choice
You tell me that I’ve still got some control.
I guess it’s true, until I make the call.
Except that choosing not to let my soul
Walk in your sunlight is no choice at all.
For that’s like choosing not to climb a hill,
Or swim into the freshness of a lake,
But sit inside upon a window sill
And never once be properly awake:
Which makes me yours, in ways I never thought
Would happen, yours to do with as you please
Or do without, because of what you’ve brought
Into my life. I’m back here, on my knees:
And twice as naked now because I know
I am indeed your slave, and love it so.
44 – Time
Time comes and bends you double on a bench
Then sticks two fingers roughly up your arse.
For all you know she could be speaking French:
You’re back at school, and bottom of the class.
She takes her tools and digs a massive trench
Into your cheeks, then shows you in a glass.
It doesn’t matter what you clutch or clench,
There is no obstacle she cannot pass.
Time that you feel so deep, and never touch,
That takes your sight and sound and strength away,
That looks so sweet, and promises so much
And shuts you up inside a tomb, some day:
Dear Mistress, your delicious art is such
That even time surrenders, while we play.
45 – Happy
I’d be ecstatic shut outside your door
At minus 20 in my birthday suit,
If I could glimpse the outline of your boot
Through double-frosted glass and nothing more:
And I’d be twice as happy as before
Stuck in a cage & muzzled like a brute,
If I could suck the pips left from your fruit
Or lick your spit up off my prison floor:
And floating fifty feet above the ground
If you’d walk past me once or twice a week,
And I could smell your scent, and catch the sound
Of any sweet abuse your lips might leak:
You’ve got me now so very tightly bound,
And as you bind, you give me room to speak.
46 – Split
Don’t think I’ve ever not been split in two.
But now those pieces, weathered for so long
Won’t fit at all, but keep on catching wrong.
So this bit lets you do the things you do -
The other, bloody sadist, gets you to:
And I surrender strength, to make you strong,
And yet I play you, like my favourite song,
Because you make me happy, black, and blue.
And if it’s just a game it’s not enough,
And if it’s more then it’s a world too much.
There’ll come a day when I won’t give a stuff
Or shiver at the beauty of your touch.
And there’s no hoping you, like me, are split
Or that together we could better fit.
47 – Flake
A butterfly may settle for a while
Upon your shoulder, or a flake of snow
Stop briefly there, and then begin to flow;
The coldest face can flicker with a smile:
And beauty, like a melt along the Nile
Can visit for a summertime, and go,
But these are things that you already know -
And use them well to hold me & beguile:
So tie me up, don’t let me slip away,
And wave your wand, until my blood appears;
And promise me this feeling won’t decay
But keep on growing stronger through the years -
Then rocking gently deep inside your sway
I’ll weep my cloud of multicoloured tears.
48 – Freedom
O I could jog all day round Albert Square
Just wearing nipple clamps and bits of string,
And juggle with my balls, and I could swear
My bare devotion – oceans of it – bring
You presents every day, shave off my hair,
But still not make you do one single thing:
Yes I could make those statues blush & stare
But still not make you do one single thing:
And it should lift my heart to watch you living
And laughing hugely – as the wind is, free -
Which is, perhaps, the only gift worth giving
And what you’ve brought – so many times – to me:
Never so much alive as when I’m diving
From a clifftop down into your deep blue sea.
49 – Inbox
I love it, when you make my inbox bold -
Two brackets with a (1) in their embrace:
It’s like my rocket, captured in your hold,
About to go exploding into space:
And when it’s blank, my blood is thin, and cold,
But when you make it bold, it starts to race
As if a huge Atlantic wave has rolled
Along my veins & flowed into my face:
My life is like those letters – since you came
It’s bigger than it was, you’ve stretched me out
In all directions – different, but the same -
You are so very hard to be without:
But let me get one message from your name
And I’m your subject – what you’ve been about.
50 – Trails
Full moon. I watch the vapour trails of planes
Turn into other things against its light:
They flourish, and then vanish out of sight
Lost in a huge estate of narrow lanes.
Like flares, or like the blossoming of canes
Across my skin, which speak of your delight
- Sweet ridges that I walk along each night -
Remembering how we took our different pains.
You are the moon. And I’m a jetplane flying
Over a sky that’s lit up with your glow:
And I can’t reach you, not in months of trying:
But always end up back on earth below,
Stood watching, as my silver trails start dying,
Even as they spread & seem to grow.
51 – Wordless
Yours are the only eyes this poem needs -
You pay me such attention – make me rich:
Adorn my pages with a string of beads
Bind up my fragments with your tender stitch.
There’s no-one else who so intently reads
The story of my skin – each tremor which
Escapes me, every little sigh that bleeds -
My sense is dark until you flick the switch.
You write, as well as read me: add new lines
And scribble out some nonsense here & there -
Know instantly what’s meant by certain signs
Without my telling – almost like we share
Some wordless language, which your touch refines -
My tongue made yours, your pleasure made my care.
52 – Ship
In something of a dream I stepped aboard
And suddenly I’m swept across the bay -
So much there is won’t wait to be explored
The creatures of the deep are quick at play:
Make me your canvas – pull me up aloft
Until I’m stretched & torn & very high
But let me be as well that something soft
Which you can rest on, as the world swims by.
For you’re my Captain: tell me what you seek
I’ll take you there, through hunger & disease,
And though my splitting timbers groan & creak
I’d carry you across the seven seas.
The wind already beats my tethered sails -
And you’ve got oars to give me, if that fails.
53 – Fair
You could be dressed in tracky pants and trainers
Bits of breakfast sticking to your chin
You could be drifting in a cloud of greyness
Looking like your country bumpkin twin
And you could be the very worst of caners
Making Jackson Pollocks of my skin
But what you mean to me would be as plain as
Blankest canvas: every time you win.
The toys you test me with could all be plastic
The places that we meet completely bare
And still your skill would stretch me like elastic
(Let me go, I fly off God knows where)
You are the best, unfuckably fantastic -
In each & every way, so very fair.
54 – Lost
My lips are lost, without Your feet to kiss -
My skin is pointless, absent from Your pain -
And every step I take I take in vain
Unless it brings me closer to Your bliss.
You make me know the meaning of “to miss”.
This must be how the desert looks for rain,
How trees in winter ache to leaf again
And larvae dream of metamorphosis.
I’m like a violin that only sings
Touched by your fingers, lit up by your grace:
When you’re not here, I have no brilliant wings
To fly me off into that other place:
Until I feel your bow across my strings
I’m just a piece of wood, locked in a case.
55 – If
If i could be the perfume on Your wrist,
A taste You can’t resist, although You try,
The lipstick You so beautifully apply,
A cup of wine that’s cradled in Your fist -
If i could be the mirror that You mist,
A crumb to feed You as You hurry by,
The sunny patch of grass on which You lie,
A tissue if You cry, Your shopping list:
If i could be the plate off which You eat,
A comfy seat, the lining of Your shoes,
Or else the mat on which You wipe Your feet,
A piece of meat, a lightbulb, or a fuse -
If i could be a thing You like to use
That makes Your life a little bit more sweet.
56 – Flayed
Rip out my eyes: chop off my ears and nose
Remove my fingertips to stop them feeling
Then flay my skin and hang it from the ceiling
Like a suit of quaint old-fashioned clothes:
O take a bloody hacksaw to my toes
And knee bones too: since I’ve no cause for kneeling -
Or anything to send my senses reeling -
Because You’ve gone, their reason also goes.
And take my heart (that’s Yours) and brain, and gut
And if, perhaps, You’ve somewhere for safe-keeping
Stuff them all inside & lock it shut
Then wrap some bandage round in case of seeping:
For this is sometimes how You leave me, cut
Wide open like a wound that can’t help weeping.
57 – Hunting
If blacked out cars behind You jump the light,
And floorboards chatter when You’ve gone to bed,
And long thin birds keep flying overhead
And things aren’t always where You left them, quite:
If shadows hug the corners of Your sight
And phone lines often click and then go dead
And words come to Your lips but won’t be said
And footprints fill Your garden overnight:
Remember this, the next time goosebumps grow
Like tiny kisses down Your neck & arm:
It’s just my heart, out hunting for the calm
That only comes from being where You go:
That searches for Your spirit high and low
And hungers for You, though it means no harm.
58 – Toy
It’s black inside this box in which I’m locked:
There’s just one little slit of light to see
You move about in brightness wild and free
But otherwise my sight’s completely blocked.
And if you let me out I’ll just get knocked
Or tied up like a kinky Christmas tree:
I should be happy that you don’t want me
Cut up in pieces, painted pink, or frocked.
This is the fate I always had in store:
To fill a tiny fragment of your day
With bits of fun I might be useful for,
Then put with all your other toys away:
I can’t explain how much this less is more -
How perfect are the moments when we play.
59 – Break in
You’ve got so many ways to slip inside:
Unpick me with a needle or a pin
Or grab a bat and smash me open wide
Or trick me with that story that you spin:
Perhaps an insecurity you’ve spied,
The window flapping like a lip of skin
Some gently pressure carefully applied -
You’ve got so many ways to break me in.
Then all I am lies ready for the taking
Spilling down the stairs & out of doors
As if a dam deep in my head is breaking:
And yet I’ve no complaint: there is no cause.
This ain’t no scene from Crimewatch in the making
What happens to be mine was always yours.
60 – Away
I click on “Send”, and send myself away,
And suddenly I’m not your lucky slave
Who spends each month preparing for one day
Of being hurt, and taught how to behave.
And you’re a beauty, and I’m bald and grey
And I’m a damned sight closer to my grave
And I’ve been stupid – more than I can say
And wasted all those precious gifts you gave.
I’ve been a sinner, losing my belief -
Too selfish and obsessed with my own pride:
And now I’ll never tremble like a leaf
When you come close, and linger by my side:
Or kiss your skin, or rocket for that brief
Ecstatic flight, across a sky so wide.
61 – Missing
My arrows fall too short or overshoot -
They fly away distracted by your stare
Or bounce right off that armour which you wear,
Wrapped up in lipstick, rubber dress and boot:
None of my darts have ever taken root
Inside your breast, or planted flowers there:
But spill themselves into the empty air
Get crushed or splintered underneath your foot:
And not one word has found the perfect length
That flightpath that would take me to your heart,
They drift aside and suddenly lose strength
Where is that brilliant, bullseye-hitting dart?
And then, I sometimes wonder, what I’d do
If one of them did find a pathway through…
62 – Merlin
My Nimue, my Lady of the lake,
The traps you have in store I can foretell
But not escape. You have me in your spell -
The secrets of my soul are yours to take.
I know that one day soon I will awake
A prisoner locked inside your liquid cell -
Your falcon, too, that sports a silver bell
And perches, blind and hooded on your stake.
No matter what I do, it ends the same:
Your element of water drowns my fire -
Turns back upon myself my twisted flame -
How could I ever hurt my heart’s desire?
This is a tale that haunted all my youth
And now your magic turns it into truth.
63 – Cages
These cages that I build. These words I twist
Into an antique shape – as if I could
Coax you inside, and keep you here for good,
Closing myself around you like a fist.
These ends I run to, hardly can resist -
Torn fragments not quite meeting as they should.
There is so much I haven’t understood.
Shut up in my own mind, how much I’ve missed
The secret of your beauty – learned so slowly
To let you be yourself, and set you free,
To offer you the keys to my whole city:
And now you have them, who knows what will happen -
Where you will take your steps, or if I can
Both when you come, and when you go, stay open?
64 – Unique
So I can say: You are like this, or that:
You are the most amazing megastar
Touching my skin across a gap so far
That I can only gaze in wonder at:
You are the chill that kills my thermostat
You boil me up inside Your samovar
Then strap me up and zap me in Your car
From 0 to 60 in one second flat:
Or not. For none of that is strictly true.
You are like nothing else, Yourself, unique-
Untouchable, not winnable, for You
Keep disappearing everywhere I seek
And this is joy, more than I ever knew,
Sung in a language I can hardly speak.
