As the indecorous breeze does billow

ebb and flow of his dreams,

swelling a deep desire

for her to return

within each tide

of hesitation.

As the unconscious ark of salvation,

sinks slow beneath his sleep,  

drowning a deep desire

for her to return

he lies laconic

of malediction.

© Katypoetess 2016

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His unravelling - of sacred shroud.

The suffocation of

her melancholic madness

by cloth of self-belief

blesses a new beginning.

The emancipation from

Poetess to temple Papess

his ruin miraculously raised

to unrepentant penitent.

The revealing complete

unveils fervent holiness,

his new bride of a Christ

in divine ambiguity.

His lost gospel ...

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I’m here to tell you
that she is

My Jamia
My Adrienne
My Lyn-Z

My Sally
My Morticia
My April
My Pam

My stars in the cold black night
My punk rock Queen

She’s a rebel
She’s a riot
She’s a muse

And I’ll always wear her heart proudly on my sleeve
because
her love is my energy
her love is my gasoline

and we’re burning bright.

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All is peaceful and still and then, in the back of my mind

It begins.

It travels like a wave, slipping silent over my head and

Around my heart where it stays and waits.

But for what does it wait and for how long will its

Patience last before it leaves me for good?

In spite of these uncertainties and my fear of its leaving again,

I still welcome its coming.

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I search

for your soul

in every passing stranger's face.

Knowing it is too late.

I dreamt

we met again

soothing all the pain between us.

The cruellest of dreams.

I crucify

time through mourning

yet it cannot hold back dawning,

of my emancipation.

© Katypoetess 2016

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Sunrise lover from

Soft, warm darkness.

Light filters in at sunrise and

Rises from the floor and spreads to the ceiling.

As the room brightens, his form slowly comes into being,

Emerging from the rumpled pile of bedclothes.

Smooth, soft, dark and lovely.

I lie with him, my face resting against his.

In the half light I can just make out

His eyelashes, resting on hi...

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They say that the worst kind of grieving

is when the lost antagonist is still alive,

whether sudden as a spring swallow’s dive

or a slow wintered bewilderment in the leaving.

Buried, burnt or butchered cruelly out of heart

that did endure with vexation and veneration,  

fear of being alone or guilt of being causation

of their final yield to the wind that blows love apart.

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If I had
one wish
then it
would not be
for a kiss,

but to look
into the storm
of your eyes again,

and listen.

Katypoetess 2016

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From Emperor to Vampire, then a journey to resting place of amoral monk.

Dwelling in ruined fort, living in a sin of retired idleness. Momentary desires

to follow the birds south, he spends his days tending a garden of lilies in the desert.

Anthony holds his poetess captive for too long without his hands, she now writhes

naked and tied to column of lost temple. Tresses burnt dark ...

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I arrive. Quickly turning bedroom from Rome into Alexandria.
Skin up, pop cork to dilute and delight blood with Bollinger.
Determined to mix up a confidence to conquer, my
Goddess summoning up a strip tease of your morality.

“The triple pillar of the world transformed into a strumpet’s fool.”*

Coiling concubine - arabesque around your thighs to
nourish exotic fantasy. Arching p...

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Drowning.

When love

cuts deep

with grieving,

one immersion

bleeds into

the next.

If she gave

herself

in forgiveness –

would her shadow

follow her?

She unconsciously

weaves threads

of the past

summoning shroud

of the future.

Touched twice

in the laver

submerged in her

saviour’s perdition.

Condemned to

cold is...

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