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Let me shelter in the warmth of your heart
and let me stay there all my life
Clear me out a space among your dreams,
I, who can never be called “wife”.
Let me shelter in the warmth of your heart
as I have rested in your bed,
satisfied with just our tangled limbs,
and clothes still waiting to be shed.
Let me shelter in the warmth of your heart
-In mine you settled long ago,
made room for yourself among my dreams,
and though I urged, you would not go.
Let me shelter in the warmth of your heart
and let me stay there all your life.

To His Lover, In Bed

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Jesus H. Christ, John-
How come your feet are so soft?
They’re feet for fuck’s sake.


A perfect moment-
Watching the death of summer
From beneath an oak

Ripe Fruit

Let’s pretend this poem
is about ripe fruit
rather than your arse.
No matter how good it feels
under my hand I know
it would be better
between my jaws.

The flesh tenses at that.
Good; I know it’s wrong
to play with my food-
But why should I
even try to hold back when
I know that bruised fruit
is all the sweeter?

Poem: This is my gun

In the playground,
I learnt how to make a gun
with two fingers:
Bang! Shoot ‘em dead,
running round like any other boy
like a boy



I was blooded; boyhood shifted,
left me behind. Just
a girl, they thought
in boys’ trousers
-not boys’, mine!-
just a girl



I made a great fuck
Loved men with my body
This woman’s body
-not woman’s, mine!-
Side-by-side compared:
still no man



I may not have a rifle
But these two fingers
Still make a gun
Try telling me otherwise
When they’re in-
And I beckon-


First Date Nerves

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She is beautiful.
…And I am a potato
Wearing a nice shirt.

Another Cricket Haiku Partnership: Bowled

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Little red martyr
Bouncing awkwardly and then-
Bails fall, shouts of joy.

Devil-red missile
Bounces, instincts failing him-
Long walk; head kept down.

The Soldier

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The soldier starts his day,
pulls on his armour.
Testing out his lungs he finds
the constriction has become comfort.
Fills out his underwear with
a little something extra:
he is the man who wears 
three socks a day!
One for the left foot,
one for the right and
one to cushion the blow
when he tries to scratch his balls.

Clothes are his camouflage:
legs not shapely, no,
but, having shape, hide within 
shapeless jeans and
the belt loops tight around 
his narrow waist.
Shoes are clunky, add height,
while layers bulk him out.

No war paint for this soldier,
nor weapon neither:
he turns his key in the lock 
and faces the battlefield.

Haiku: Physicists

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Self-aware atoms
Delve deeper into themselves,
Try to find meaning.

Requiem Upon a Fallen Tree

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The morning after the storm,
I saw a Tree had come down:
Old, grown strong from nothing,
Now dead, torn up at the roots.
We went down to mourn it. You
showed me how the roots were weak,
kicked at the rotted wood;
chopped it up for firewood as I watched.
Had the wind not blown so fiercely,
Had it not lashed out at our Tree,
We would never have known of the rot-
Tree might even have flourished.
“But,” you point out. “The tree knew.”
The tree knew.