I’m not his muse, and I can never be.                        

No time, circumstance or chance will let me.                       

After all he gives and gets, loves, regrets,                 

he remains my teacher and I, the taker.                    

He is anarchist and challenging creator,                   

who advocates the belief I have no need

to be seen and posed as a...

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She was always picturesque in the garden

and the bright pop of colour amidst the grey city

In his words he tried to capture her beauty,

with objective distance, where she was ardent

She coaxed out something within him,

reignited the flames where the chandelier had grown dim

She soothed the heaving seas of his fears

and knew how to brush away his tears

With a firm but intell...

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As she heaved the duvet

Billowing over the bed

Words shimmered through her mind –

Like fish flashing in deep waters

Fleeting

The music of pleasing vowels

Slipping song of bubbled pebbles

Formless

Something – possibly -  glorious

Thoughts make our words;

Words make our thoughts.

The silly poet strives struggles

Suffers

For metaphor

...

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