Meeting their next taciturn new lover


Meeting their next taciturn new lover


You notice the deep shovels of
his hands are a combed-beach
collection of scratches, the knuckles
all wrecked, and still raw as lies.
Black flecks like question marks
on a map, sunken into the skin;
you assume them to be thorns,
but brambles rather than roses.
From beneath the frayed cuffs of
a cheap, over-worn shirt, the unruly
wire of bronze hair emerging, and
the first inch of a louder scar of
inscrutable tissue becomes visible;
terminus, direction of travel, unclear.
Somewhere in the high dome of his
chest, behind its tidal movements,
and quiet at the centre of it all,
perhaps a heart, a core you cannot
know, how securely it beats, if
at all. And you, continuing to tell
yourself just how little you care.

first published in Melancholy Hyperbole, 2016


Publication in Picaroon Poetry, Issue #7

Eve and her mother...

My poem, Eve and her mother have a little chat, appears – along with loads of other great stuff – in Issue #7 of Picaroon Poetry, which has been published this week. Picaroon is well worth a follow, if you don’t already. Thanks to editor Kate Garrett for including the poem.