Scent of Words

Sleeping last night
In dark-lightness
Poetry seeping from my eyes onto my pillow
No strength to wake up
No strength to capture the fleeting words.
Every word
Scuttled away and hid in the tangles of my hair.

At dawn
When my mother greeted the sun
My pillow was poem-scented.
I said
Words have nested in the feathers of my pillow.

Shadow Dance

My shadow kissed your hands’ shadow
as the sun set.

Your hands’ shadow
put the shadow of a grape
in my shadow’s mouth.

The beat of my heart and your heart
broke the shadow of silence.

The shadow of our happiness
walks on long legs
over the shadow of our hopelessness.

The London Magazine
The UK's oldest literary magazine

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