Searching for signs of him
in his jacket pocket
I found
a lighter
weed crumble trailing the seam
credit card (stolen)
£5 in shrapnel
stray tobacco strands
and in the deepest recess
his hand
but receptive
to mine



He used to call around 9
burst through the door
then creep away in the early hours
leaving me feeling


were our
significant method
of communication
on mantelpieces
in victorian terraces
in W8
until they curled
around the edges
when they could no longer
take the heat

Soft Focus

What purpose does it serve
if we go out
get drunk
stumble into old patterns of behaviour
it’s just an interruption
of the negative space between us
lust in soft focus
but afterwards
we will be more beautiful
for having been broken

Pixelate me

Pixelate me
encode my features
in blocks of calculated colour
hung out to dry
in 64 pieces
dehumanized in graphic detail
and reflected in the whites
of a wall of human eyes


*  Inspired by Ellsworth Kelly’s “Colours for a large wall”


I kept the poem you wrote for me
like a talisman
folded in the dustcover
of the book of
Mayakovsky poetry
that once was yours
a metaphor
shielded from contamination
fuelled by
russian vodka
and prose


The scent of those twenty roses
won’t hide the stench
of our exponential


Don’t look at me that way
with brown eyes
like it was yesterday
your hair
slicked back
a hint of the irreverent grin
that can have me unpinned
don’t lay your hand on the small of my back
so the heat of your palm
leaves a brand
as if to reclaim me

No Regrets

hotel room
in summer
sheets pulled taut across the bed
cotton as tense as the buzz between us
reckless place to be
caught up in the midst
of past
and present
like ants in amber
each expecting the other to move
to remember
what it was like
to feel
to breathe in each other’s breath
leaving room
for no regrets

Desired Effect

Your soft promises of love
written poetically
laid to rest on our bed
had the desired effect
they were the blinders
that hid the transgressions
and the indentation on my pillow
of an interloper’s head

Air Mail

Don’t send me envelopes
stuffed full of hot air
devoid of emotion
lacking any sign of love
or devotion
they are not worth the paper
they aren’t written on


I feared I had lost all ability to write
Or perhaps 
I just lost all feeling
As you suspected I might
once your dirty linen
came to light


You were the DNA stain
impressed on my dress
proof of my

You were the hidden texts
the love letters
evidence, I shredded

You were my greatest love
most hated ex
who courted someone else

Scratched Vinyl

Left me
a lifetime ago
my broken pieces strewn
across the poetry
he wrote me
nestled in the photos
I snapped as we drank
like scratches in the vinyl
of our songs
Its been 3 decades
sleeved in regret
but then he came back
in a reply
(6 years late!)
a fraction heavier
no wiser
a happily married cliche
with children
still a salesman
touting his boyish grin
and all over again
he has me committed 
to sin