what love can be

on this colour-palette of paper

let me try to paint a picture of love

to the soundtrack of drums

and the intoxication of feeling young

and knowing that the summer comes


they kiss beneath the stars

they don’t know who they are

but who they want to be and what they see


an impish smile that warms the night

a hand to hold just for a while

until that while becomes a life

and that life is lived in the pursuit of light


no one knows when lovers will meet

or how serendipitous or sweet

no one knows how souls collide

or what makes a groom and what makes his bride


we know that when two people walk the same path

when they play music

create magic and make each other laugh


when they commit to one another

and fit into each other

then they become believers and friends

and family and lovers


but love cannot be explained with words alone

it is not a parable, a story or a poem

it is not a grey-scale poet

and a pot of ink

but a choice you make on the journey home


love is a picture of your creation

it the hues and the tones of your elation

it is yours, it is unique

it is the soundtrack of your heartbeat

it was formed in that moment your colours collided

your future revealed in the light it provided


You hold guitars like they are offerings

A well of words

which spill over troubled bodies

a deluge of whispered sounds

which soothe thirsty skin

soaking the silence with quiet messages

which swell the heart


Your music touches minds

with lullabies of good intention

with fingers that seek wounds to heal

and fill crevasses with emotion

and flakes of skin


You hold guitars like they are offerings


Your gift is incoherence

a dam that breaks with joy

your water brings comfort

a place to warm bodies

a place to meet friends

and pay homage


Yours is a place upon which stories grow

on which to build homes and dig moats

in which to hold the waters of your words

it holds back enemies, our memories

it saves us from ourselves

Pale Blue Mornings

We sit across from one another

our wares laid bare

by our ineptitude for words

I recite poetry in my head

about your premeditated eyes

and how they look on pale blue mornings

when voices are murdered

I have tried for knowing you

you’re incapable of secrets

especially those you wish to keep

(A wish to belong)


We lay across from one another

our ineptitudes laid bare

while we try for secrets

I recite poetry in my head

to silence the gaps

Silence is a secret you told me once

now it belong to us

on pale blue mornings

Across spaces where we once tried to find each other

I feel our ineptitudes most distinctly

Why I Won’t Let Go

I am not graceful, but neither are you. I am not together, or cool, or all that interesting. I have not achieved great things, nor made a difference that will go down in the history books. But neither have you. I have not meant every word I have said, I have relied on clichés to see me through, I have never written anything original or life changing, that others have passed on in rapture. I have never loved all that well, or completely. But neither have you.

You wouldn’t let that hold you back. You blunder on through, you push your agenda, you believe whatever you want to believe. Your middle finger is the most elegant thing in your vocabulary.

I have never been completely sure until the moment when I realised that I cannot wait to see you again, and you were already lying right next to me. You were already there and it wasn’t enough. You are like no one I know. You are unimaginable.

These days, I think that I made you up.

I won’t let you go, not because you have made me feel invincible, or infinite, or even just a little special. I won’t let you go because I know that I am all of those things, and I am waiting for you to discover me.

We are simply human, you and I, but I think we can surpass ourselves, surpass our non-achievements and our graceless ways. Together.

Just don’t let go.

Kissing Beneath the Streetlight: Part 2

We stood beneath a streetlight and kissed. There was nothing romantic about it. There was no soft music playing, no moon to catch your face, no gentle breeze to rustle our clothes. I felt light-headed because I had breathed in too much smoke and it tangled itself in my hair until there was nothing else but the reek of bars and disappointed dreams all around me.

You were lovely once.

Buddha said, “In the end, only three things matter: how much you loved, how gentle you lived and how gracefully you let go of things not meant for you.

I know that you were not meant for me.

I will never be graceful.

Kissing Beneath the Streetlight

We stood beneath a street light and kissed. I felt light headed – how different you were. How different you both were, the two men who broke my heart in different ways. Your kiss was unknown, unpractised and uncertain. I wanted much more, I wanted it all right then, but thought that I had all the time in the world. I thought that you would be back. I thought that the unknown would become practised and certain; eventually.

Does it bother you that I am desperate? Does it concern you that I want to fight you, fight for you, battle out your stubbornness, your indecision, this uncertainty. It bothers me. But I am tired of being the person who is strong and dignified. I would give up that strength for a while. I would give up my dignity for a shot at love.

We stood beneath a street light and kissed. I ran my hand down your back and it hurt my senses because I already knew how beautiful you would be naked. I wanted to strip you in the street, just to trace your contours with my eyes. I wanted to gather your skin in my hands and rub it against me. I wanted the sensory explosion of your scent, your face, your hands, your smile.

Does it bother you that I cry when I listen to your music? Does it concern you that it has become my masochistic means of punishing myself, of trying to get over you, while falling for your voice over and over again. The opening chords are enough to deflate me, to push me over the edge. All I want, right now, is to lie at your feet while you play those opening chords again and again, until the edge has come and gone and whatever exists in the abyss has come to claim me.

We stood beneath the street light and kissed. I couldn’t have imagined you would never become part of my life. I never imagined that there would be a price to pay for my hope. I felt like I had been promised something. A soldier next to me, a master, a dreamer, a creator. I thought that if we combined our strengths we would be invincible. Us against them.

But it was you against me.

I don’t know where it all went wrong.

We stood beneath a streetlight and kissed. There is no one like you.

I want to go back. I want to start again.

You Fought Me

You are a radical in all you do

Even in love, it is “at first sight” or not at all

You play guitar in the corners of rooms

And I ran, I ran to you

I found you in a cushioned cocoon


Flailing about in my lily white skin

Your skin a decaying artwork of pain

The only manifestation of your burning lungs

Too beautiful, so beautiful

I wanted to trace you with my tongue


I held onto your body in the street

As the waves of change came over me

There was happiness in being part of our human collective

But I could not feel nor look at you

Your blue-eyed stare reflective


Of what you believed


You fought me

You thought you could see all of me

But like others before, you weren’t looking for me

You were looking for you

And for what you believed me to be


In the end I still have that seed of me

And my dignity