This is not for you:
Crawling through broken glass,
For those crystal needles of joy.
To bathe in their rainbow sparks,
And wash in the opium musk of her,
Sinking into that velvet dark,
Wrapped in her folds and curves.
Heave your heart away:
Let gusts of grief steer your course
Homeward, on rivers of tears
From those desert shores,
Where bones of other souls
Lost to her sad Siren calls
Litter forbidden ruins of love.
JAN/FEB 2017 AUTHOR OF THE MONTH at Spillwords.com
A mother of two boys, scribbling from the Western coasts of the UK, mainly poetry, but whatever comes out really. Former journalist and PR professional, the first whispers of middle age and declining eyesight made having a real go at 'real writing' a little more urgent. A Cornish native, I made my home in South West Wales so the sound of the sea sighs through my work every now and then. Lover of nature, yoga, boutique coffee shops and occasional (and very dreadful) surfer.