This is not a love song.
I had a dream and it was dark
and when we kissed my fingers
found you like candlelight
my love will always be
the fanned flame, the spark
from a star in the darkness
lighting the way
that flame that licks at the dark
reminds me of sweet things
we whispered meaninglessly
they keep me happy
when you are not with me
even on coldest winters shortest night
I could feel the summer sun reborn
in the loving comfort of your mouth
holding each other, then, always,
reminded me of what it means to be
but within my love is found
a pain so great, that, but
for the pleasures of our friendship
I could not bear it
I can't bear the melancholy ache
of separation alone,
awaiting return, reunion,
merging of hungry souls
revelling in singular us
when we were together
I had no fear of the unknown
the future nor the dark past
I would rather endure anything
than see a hint of blue
cross your green eyes
if breath escaped
and perception waned
if night now tumbled towards end
and darkness's cocoon enclosed me
even then I would be yours
I love you to the end of the world
now, and forever.
When I awoke this morning,
I looked at my fingers,
and thought instantly of you,
The remains of our passion
on my fingertips,
the new smell of my desire.
My hands became all eyes
and my eyes all hands
became all eyes
and my eyes all hands
(j'encule le monde)
to fuck-up, the ass, the world
You cannot know
my night rain sorrows
it's my red desire
to remember your lips
and lie awake for love
our time together has only
been minutes and hours
you fell from the sky
like a human season
spring, leaving a burning
trace on my lips and heart
from the first that I saw you
and only you can
which burns inside me
with your lips
and my prince your touch
is the long and gentle thunder
that stirred my river blood
and I wish my thoughts
could find and penetrate
hospital walls and the blanket
sheets that mingle your hair
to fold you in your sickness
call you through clouds like
silence penetrated by light
I want to be the edgeless air
and shadows on your face
an entire universe
that can love your feverish body
so that your eyes
will be bright and mine again
and I imagine resting my head
on your chest your breath
speaking softly against my ear
and asking eyes answer return
to yourself and to me
and that will be a day my dearest
without past regrets or future fears
and we can forget
this terrible reminder that
everything we hold
is never ours
I will stay and you will not go
love can be in distance and in time.
the world, fallen
through the night,
us, washed up
onto the morning.
A venetian blind's
on our shadow skins,
straining to hear
hearts against traffic,
happy like rivers,
perfect like the dew ,
and all that I desire,
is to wake to you,
and sit in the sunlight,
and listen beyond
all mattered spheres,
heading the four corners
of nowhere, to here.
in the air
rain in the rain
love like water
in unused stillness
the dark pines
love your solitude
in the peace I can hear
gatherings of waves dissolve
the very solidness of stone
is the reason for its calm
everything is large but quiet.
Summer, a History
Waiting on the shore,
is a restless half-life,
so maybe i'll let some
wannabe factory boy,
smash my box again,
and again, and for
a moment, on this side,
it's you over me,
just bending low,
under the night echo,
and a blue shore,
Venus, that good ship,
bound, and bordering,
like a sail, look,
I know where,
storms and stars
come from, but,
I don't know,
where you are,
or come from,
or go, or went,
so this life,
is just love,
and nothing else, yes,
nothing is really worth
having, and if you
could live uncertainly,
you would live here too.
Ancient Evenings, Modern Mornings
Cooling summer nights, our home lit from within
toasted moths and hungry owls roam the borders,
ancient evenings, with naked bowls of strange fruits,
reduced to dim islands of rosy firelight, these are
the early evening hours I love, removing shoes,
stepping on the grass, work finished, toys and games
away, technology off, I have you to myself,
human voices can't reach us, all is nature and kindness,
calm and easily beautiful, but beyond the night
and the luxury of us, Modern is this business,
these suits, those pale austere venturesome men
raise flags and land cannons, and now We must
wave to the street, disrespect the sun, be baptised,
dress in trousers, go to work, pay taxes, and our mornings
can no longer be rich with sleep, sometimes, yes,
most of the time, I just wake up and hate everything.
wire hums the space between us
air dry in early dusk
but sweet still while I wait
in hope to catch you under
dead and twinkling lights
that hot iron heart of earth turning
to give you my love again
I couldn't get through
unsaid words bubbling in my throat
you there? Are you
are you shaking the smog from your hair? and
the day from your skin and in your
do your winded clothes collapse on a chair?
you are I want to be there too
the soft weight of you
warm skin becoming water and then air
trees wave for you, and at
we're just puppets amidst the tangled strings of sleep
yes all good things; I hope, to those who wait.
Skies, Blossoms, Winds and Waves
My love, if only I could be the sky,
with all those stars to look for you,
you stayed no more than the summer could,
evaporating into the sky, and still,
I try to clutch you above the earth,
low searching high with humming satellites,
and stirring all the relics of our time,
their scattered, all those happy pages torn,
defeated, like the fallen leaves.
You, brought quietly into the dreaming night,
and all my world was re-arranged,
with dolphins in the forest and ocean kangaroos,
please come again with the returning spring,
with all those scented tiaras and other ropes,
of violet blossoms twined around your neck,
with all four happy winds, thrice happy waves,
your twice happy ship sails, all once again happy.
Love, as you sleep, lights go out, the lights are out,
our time wasting like the wax of bees, and then,
just as morning sun-beams reach for you,
clouds wash over, and trees blossom a shade,
I must embrace you away.
But where are you now? below? I fear the dark,
the sea: does it break, pool and whirl above your head?
has that ill-god's quick honey drowned you away?
Has he sunk your eyes wine-dark, so deep, too deep,
that young things find their graves? leaving as we entered,
the last one turns into the light, dispersing with the winds,
and nothing now retains except the memory of us,
and all our love, sticky on my heart.
S, I love the shape of you,
I swim up against your throat,
and around your nose, I love it
as the sea-foam loves the cape,
I love to beach on your cheek,
like a sea-tide loves the shore,
and kiss the boom of your ears
like a canvas loves the winds,
your eyes are navigating stars
from ocean to shining seas and
your lips are rain to tired sands,
and the port between your arms,
Its where I find my only bliss.
I am a Lover
I am a lover, not loved,
loving beauty and dreams,
out of reach of my reality,
beyond the horizon of dreams,
and the ocean of desires,
waiting is a desert of searching,
you're an oasis I could drink.
I am a lover, hungry to be loved,
I belong to another time,
you're from another world.
I would have loved you so much
in a palestra of Athens,
studying in the Academia,
or Paris at the Sorbonne.
I am a lover, full of love
I would have loved you:
In the Museum of Alexandria
or the Galleries of the Louvre
Or just siting beside you,
in the theater of Tauromenium
or the Opera Garnier.
I am a lover, will you meet me?
You turn to me, I turn to you.
I'm dreaming of your soul,
your body, your beauty
will be my horizon, between
my desert and my ocean, and
your gaze will burn my eyes.
I am a lover, I love you in my dreams,
I dream about you in my days,
your warm smile and your gaze,
the shape of you, your walk,
your maturity, the way you border
youth and wisdom, you're the tideline
you are horizon of the sea and the sky.
I am a lover and I'm waiting,
dreaming about you,
I remember you, I met you
so long ago, so close, so far away,
here, or there, yesterday,
or such a long time ago
can you can hear me? I see you...
I am a lost lover, perhaps one day,
in another future, another horizon,
my ephebe, I will loose myself
into the oasis of you eyes,
And I will whisper sweet words,
so close to your ear, to your lips,
it won't be speech, it will be a caress.
Summer sky's winking city,
becomes an indolent lagoon
bubbling streets flow softly
lamps as gauzy aureoles
lighting hungry bellied bats
catching ghost-edges of scents
swollen duskness pressed down,
steaming shirts cling to backs
swimming a ballet that reaches past
an awareness of sinuous warmth and
animal grace makes flesh from words,
blood thunders, eyes close to red
hearts pause like birds and take flight.
Foreign winds, sharp and salty with winter,
pass through the city; they work together,
crossing high above the dead square, the clock,
and below, cracking the pale marble slabs.
Winds, dusty, dry and sweet are wrestling with
the awnings and the doors, sweeping the bitter
and the adolescent down, and out to sea.
Moments, sweet provoked,
in bed, with love, anguished,
where your skin awakes,
my skin, night hunger,
repeating, death, secret rage,
green envy, desire
forall of you, fear
of you knowing all of me,
this love found,
like surprising luxury,
apart we are all shards
of reconstructed moments,
precious thirsty wounds,
all unconsumed and all un-healing
like hungry ghosts,
with troy gates open in defeat.
nothing is said,
to love is not to sleep, to dream,
with the shell of my ear
against your breast,
until my mute greed is sated
from the tide of your blood
and your breathing
the pounding of the sea
nothing, damp nothing
just the patience of an oyster
to calculating fish,
lets invading sleep
win-over like a tide of Autumn
love lets us float-on in indolence,
then dashes us together
and pulls us apart,
arms and legs broken on the shore,
salt-wet thighs of cities
death and taxes,
death and sleep,
sleep and death,
until we have nothing more to say.
love blankets the world like snow
it's good for winter,
and the earth forgets peace.
Brushing snow off my desk,
the crackling of papers -
like fallen leaves,
nothing is heard
in the middle of a street before
the winter silence,
dying as you walk away,
all plate glass, trapped air,
loneliness without walls,
ceilings without angles,
you leave me in the bedroom -
like a falling statue,
entombs me into the freshly dug
for my death,
waking for a resurrection,
no fingers can grasp the sound,
no eyes to touch or ears to smell,
like lips, talk is needless,
nothing is remembered,
and only I seem to know
the mumbled words
that you talk in your sleep,
the angels you wrestle
and in your native tongue,
and it is not life, but love
that makes us stranded - and reach-out
and come together - and tear us apart,
and each time - washed higher
and stranded further - and still more,
each time - more still,
and more even - and even still.
To You, to Me
I had you over runways,
under freeways, beneath tunnels
you had me over bridges,
beside highways in the streets,
I had you spinning in in crescents
lost in cul-de-sacs, I had you more
I had you six times in the limo
before we reached the door
we had each other in driveways
up pathways, bumping up stairways
stumbling over doormats to hallways
under the breathless stag of seven tines,
over watched by glass-eyed beasts,
you had me in the park, I had you
deaths and anniversaries
fill the skies.
I want to denude you of your clothes
and skim over all that fine warm skin
I want to strip you of all your inhibitions
to explore you with pressing kisses.
My scorched hands are all uncertain,
fluid and jetlagged, drunk on your musk
They're light and hopeful, like tired
migratory birds clouding desert sands.
So, if my singing hands are light,
please be naked, my brown angel.
Petrichor morning, the stones appear to bleed.
Blood hums to rain, painting the sweet fat earth,
over cold clouds of steel, aluminium and clay,
thin streaks of green stain the throbbing copper,
hot coffee clutches at absence gardening my heart,
you've returned already, to a mother's watchfulness.*
(*safe away from the Artist, that Australian who drinks)
Dressed you're a different creature, properly labelled,
tamed into a suit, and in the street a stranger to me,
discrete, serious, deodorised, their hungry spidereyes
crawl over you, they don't know you're the Artist's Boy.
But at my day's end comes some renewal of hope:
crisp empty white sheets are warm against my cheeks.
Downstairs, our dirty laundry is mixed together,
a salad of all the soiled darks and lights and colours,
dusty thunder through the window, the posture of rain,
Olypme's taking-in laundry, dropping all the pegs,
into her apron, but before folding-up the last shirt,
she brings it up to her face, to smell the day.
Enfilading midnight doors are locked
as camelbells fade and midnight stars
all overflow across crisp white dunes,
midnight hair brushes your collarbone,
I taste all your ripe exudations, essential
and euphoric on your midnight skin.
A seabreeze across this desert,
as clothes fall away and nude eyes
pet awake to tongue and paint box,
marooned here, you're an island boy,
with silky ichor coloured fingerprints
daubed all over your cinnamon skin.
The Artists Boy, you are, with your
long toes of blue, fingers of iridescent
purple and wide shoulders of green,
you are of the wildest cinnamon, warm,
sweet and raw against my winter skin.
Petrichor morning, the stones bleed.
Nocturne, I turn out the light,
this unquiet room is cold
night country quicksilver,
further under the duvet
the other side of midnight,
and that true hind of wonderful,
Auntie Venus is observed waltzing
along the edge of the forest.
Other voices, other rooms,
the comfortable madness
of the the turning song dogs me,
the neighbours argue, come on!
once more with feeling!
And the wood of the bed creaks...
It always hates me when you're gone.
Finally, flags unfurl for sunrise; here,
half-mast, with bones that dream.
Somebody the sailor trapped in
sunday quick sands, comfort of men,
and white heat, pirate latitudes,
and marriage to the sea, lands-end,
river-cross my heart and hope.
California, the comfort of shades
infinity pools and civilised magic,
poolside, flood-tide, white mischief,
sheer abandon, fear and flowery,
the vine of desire takes root,
glass after glass, this blood of flowers,
this city of beasts, a bride stripped bare.
Good scent strange, alley of Eden
the last time we met, blooms-day-dead
the plague, mountains sank, empires fell,
blankets of sand, bees and mist
famished victory out of Egypt,
keeping faith, the taste of honey.
Ulysses found bound free of hands,
a boy like you is the eye of paradise,
a blind man can see how much I love you.
How shall we sing now of true pleasures
and bright shapes, and true names.
Well and mine, life, light, and loaded
when the smallest colour is primary
I have something to declare:
I can't wake-up early enough
to remember you, so join me now
and see the world.
If you let me
If you let me: Baby,
I would be all your clothes,
and cling to your body
and hang on your bones.
I would like to be
all the wind in the air
tracing your goosebumps
and ruffling your hair.
I would want to be
the sun at your place
warming your back
and kissing your face.
Oh Baby I'm tall, but
if you gave me a pass,
i'd be a lot smaller
and live in your apartment.
when the sun blinds me,
I remember when you'd hold me
tall, poised over the rim of time,
and bury my face in your hair,
making sure my hands
were safely tethered to the mast
you'd let me live there
in your blueness, your yesness
for just a few moments
that fizzing springness
that feels like Vieuxtemps
and the rain.
you'd let me breathe
up your nape, that curves
against my dreams,
around the cape of your jaw
so my lunar soul can voyage,
circumnavigating the languid,
liquid world of your brow,
roiling into the surf,
orbiting with care
by the constellation of your eyes
as so many other men
have wrecked themselves
upon these reefs
you've got me like a fish
trapped in your lashes,
and your hair, it contains dreams,
they're tucked behind your ears,
I know I'll find them all,
and your other secrets,
amongst this ripe flowing field
of dark wheat,
where storm sirens languor
upon the drowned
and half remembered wrecks
of former heroes,
these witches, entangled,
floating in the depths,
they tease me -
they sing me guilty of love,
as they send me out
on the awful ease of tides,
out of the blue
skimming over Africa's
and dark summer monsoons,
they carry me over
the hemisphere of your hair,
towards the downy shores
deep and warm,
and black and azure blue.
Love is that distance between
you and what you want –
that's our fate, as all loves
become ridiculous with time.
You're becoming blurred into memory
like Antinoüs or Tadzio,
so much longing can make anyone
into a god I guess.
You can chase what you love or deny it,
but what you love will always
be your fate.
Birds are my compass,
needles spin into the sky,
palms are fingers of my shade,
camped amongst nameless tombs,
tunelessly echoing the flute and drums,
the dancing of desert pearls is wanton
always wild, bronzed lips
are licked wet and sweet,
like when you split a desert peach,
you sell the fruit to arab traders,
and then you sell the hide.
I prayed to Juno and the whore,
for sweet young tender lamb,
for hissing, crackling flames,
flesh, for the old goat men
who lean down black tongued
and greedy fingered to reach-around
and all the way-in and down,
one hungry hand, works furiously
with the fork, the other furtively works,
jackal wary and forbidden what
it has found up to the mouth.
Dessert was just hot date upon a wire.
no girls, but let me kiss their hands,
sons, dance lambs. Melons are delight.
Can we be perfect lovers?
I am not a rich man
and have no diamonds.
you're so far over and away.
But, I can give you truth
and thoughtful gifts,
writing poems just for you,
I message you and call you,
to let you know how I miss you,
You're the breakfast of my day
and my good-night dream.
Most days I would give
anything to be with you,
and the most precious thing
I have, I want to give you;
my time, all-else can wait.
I learnt it in my teens
(how to let a boy inside)
1. Tighten your body until
Every. Muscle. Screams.
2. Then Release. Shiver-out,
relax down, like a horse.
If you're scared of stab,
and trembling - it hurts.
The Trick. Useful for every
injection, all examinations.
You'll never recoil if you
welcome it all, like a lover.
If you want to love me,
and I want you inside,
i'll hush my blood and
let you swim inside.
you're my first
I get from you
thinking of your
to let you flow
my heart and brain
i've never been
addicted to drugs
but i'm addicted
You're more lovely than all the shades
of greens and purples of any precious garden.
You're my most dreamless sleep,
my green, my cool and dark and deep.
Your smile's worth more than all the jewels
within the earth, begging at your feet.
Hot and humid, overtired. I beg for sleep!
My fresh, my green, my dark and deep.
My purple! Oh, for a dreamless sleep!
My green, my cool, my dark and deep.
You are sweeter than summer night's jasmine
and brighter than the sun's morning laughter.
My Prince, my man, my green lovely, my sleep!
my best, my fresh, my cool, my dark and deep.
I am Love
How can I un-tame you?
And set-out all your claws,
mess that shampooed mane?
I wish you free, untamed,
out of this circus for a night,
silent together in the forest,
all un-proper and in-love,
because silence is hunger,
and night is better than never.
Sphinx, come here, for real,
hungry under the star-light
smell this man here in the dust,
without those boots, hat or whip,
the doctors can't cure your chest
but maybe, I can make you growl?
So before you take your pill,
lie-down, here, on your good side
down, because this is the way-in,
my head resting near your mouth.
I don't want the world, you're enough.
In every perfect way - I die for you.
So eat me-up, chew me-out,
chase me down into the tall grass,
blood me or starve.
So, greetings, African. I am here.
I have come - down from Venus,
all the other beasts can smell it,
and I am love – I am terror
and I'm here, the destroyer of lies,
to make you uncomfortable.
Should your thoughts
stray towards me,
in that odd moment
when the LA traffic
holds it’s breath,
know it’s possible that
i’m thinking of you too,
your great gentleness,
your kind eyes,
your dear voice,
and sweet lips.
In that moment
stray towards me.
Let me be the sun
that opens up all
your budding flowers
with every rising day.
Open-up all your leaves,
your mouth, your legs,
the petals of your eyes,
blossom with me, follow
me across all the skies
drunk on your nectar
blooming in my glow.
Other flowers follow me,
but always know this:
I shine only for you.
Four Letter Names
I'll soon forget this boy, kneeling
on my rug with a gram of blow,
inhaling all his own reflection,
I know this bottom's heartache,
eyes aching for me to fill his void.
He's regular, not handsome or pretty,
I forget his name, where he's from,
its just enough he stays the night,
spends, and shelters from the storm.
And when he first enters my bed,
lifts his shirt and tugs the blanket back,
turning, he startles more than scares,
his lanky body, nowhere special,
pale thighs spread-out like railings.
His only question: Enjoying the Town?
It's bars are all guideposts to pillowing,
so across shadows, hope-worn streets,
I brave this brackish harbour for bed.
Diving into yesterdays's air, I taste
cologne, and salt, waking at three,
hungering again, feeling so empty
my throat aches from lack of sobs.
Beyond the night, up off the mattress,
I forget too, beyond the large fingers
inside me, my images of the big man
fading, with all the other loads sticky,
muffled, and indifferent as the stars,
I whisper for stop, but softer than sobs.
Gifts That I Gave You/
Gifts That You Gave Me
A copy of the Shah Jahan Diamond
A Vintage Waistcoat
A lemon stolen from the Getty Villa
A drawing of a Dodo
A 1st edition of Paul et Virginie
A cashmere jumper
A human heart
Gas station chocolate
A painting off the wall
Lunch and dinner
Oil paints and canvas
A free CD
Secrets, mysteries, and lies
On the Beach
I will make love to men on the beach, like a storm,
I will make love to you on the sands, like a tempest,
I will un-stuff you, like a guilty anemone, at low-tide,
I will force open the pucker, of your swollen lips
until you tightly swallow, each fisted digit,
until your salt rash, rubbed raw, melts unto my cock,
I will build castles on the dunes, and rule over you,
and I will make upon you, until your skin tears,
until you are ambushed, stretched to both horizons,
I will make upon you, until your bones crack,
like all the dry shells, that litter the wash line,
rolling over, and into, and under, all seven seas,
the oceans, their waters do not cool my lusts for you,
as I batter and explore your deepest sea caves,
like the tide swell, like a drowning sailor,
I will enter you in waves, and stretch, and slap,
and pound, all those secrets from your body,
until you beg for more, until my warm wet
spray spume, crusts-over all your lies,
until you beg again, until the sand speckled scabs,
around your holes, match the ones around my heart,
and I will refuse your pleas, until I kiss-out,
all your broken promises, from your mouth,
and bury them in the sands, and bury them in time,
kiss me hard, before you come, kiss me deadly,
before you drown, kiss me before you eat my dust,
before you salt-sob, the morning mirror of your fog,
kiss me before you try to soap yourself clean again,
before you have to stand on the train again,
kiss me hard before you go.
Song of the Lost
Losing things is part of all we have:
I have lost my money, my keys, my mind,
my memories, my favourite watch.
(for this to rhyme I need a Scotch?)
But this month the list compounds
with every day, I lost a dog,
a childhood home, it's grounds.
But they were not the rudest shove,
I lost a city, an empire, a future,
fleeing a continent, I lost my love.
Loosing is not hard to do
until I finally lost you -
I dearly hope you go to Hell
Until then I'll have to keep
your secrets well.
cruising four n' fourty
down Oxford St
the four headed dog
”Nice suit faggot!”
in the suburbs
disturb the populace
their unquiet slumber
Bondi Beach, wild horses
on the sands, heads tossing
turn to foam, when I plunge
race and gallop, bearing down
they disappear, leaving bubbles,
around my ankles, the sheen
of unshod hooves appearing,
in the showers, for a rub-down.
Feral horses must
be mounted vigorously
i'll gore anything
on the weekend,
brumby, bronco, colt,
shy pony, harnessed stallion,
married steed, even a plug
or a mare if my bloods-up.
Stampeding into me,
I cannot be thrown,
from snowy river,
bareback to the sands,
you pucker crimson,
grab with both hooves,
swollen with hot blood,
and contain my heft.
I'll leave you sprawled,
in rent briefs, knackered,
grazed, drunk, and sated,
I am a mad white horse,
on tired wings.
Wild horses inspire me.
Who could not love,
the slow honest
tongue of horses?
Last nights, rehearsal, you woke
me deep inside, my inner eye
a Stradivari of me fingering-out
chords upon my skin, all my inner
chambers vibrating, quivering
you slowly plucked your way
to sound deeper Harmonies,
like the angels make for God.
You and I, became we, us,
my tense strings stretched-out,
as a deep warmth melted me,
shaping me to your pleasure,
each position a movement,
a new symphony, a release of
such raw vibrating tenderness
that I blossomed into song,
transformed by your skill,
until the growing crescendo
washed over us,
and we fell,
with the dawn,
but still the music echoed,
in the silence of my sleep.
Talking to a Hat
Your threadbare nets thin summer waves.
Your shoes have eyes that wink the even-sun.
Clothes sometimes are more than human plight.
Wild view, sea view, somehow you're not here.
Ruffling sea grasses, infringe the crinkling panes.
Blinds confuse the world, sky time, dust bright.
You are as beautiful, and as strange, as kind.
You are that race, that walks from there to-me.
Please echo, in my golden room, with firelight.
High sheet-iron shrinks last glowing urgency.
This grey hour has all the flavours of it's time.
So light some lamps, it's afternoon, it's night.
skin tan smells of sunlight on a rose.
I have seen, I have touched, you are lovely.
Hero of Bees, I need to honey all your light.