All the poems featured on this page are excerpts from my two books The God-like Things (2021) and Moonhold (2019). All rights reserved. 

You can also read my {poem + story} series: 



say love

i met a man
whose hand i held and maybe
i shouldn’t have

say yes. say yes anyway

it is more than skins can hold
his tending for my small body
love is such a silent giant thing
he’s so blood close. week old roses
watch the floor of our clothes
my morning looks beautiful in his shadow
under cold waters i am sweating
would i vanish steamed somewhere along the way
carrying confessions with his name?

say yes. say yes anyway

his blue dreams, my blue eyes
a single candle has two wicks
can i hold a life in a palm-sized photo?
like a virgin burning of fire
i run towards my god, before his door i kneel
open please, open
and he opens.
and all is everything
nothing more to say but

say love. say love anyway
say love despite the love

as if souls twin

let me be a while yet
as if i’ve unforgotten to stay

voices like hands, solid
as if we’ve remembered how to


winter, once

when even ice curls around the rocking hearts
and the wild, plunging us deeper

into deeper

souls twin like our childhood diaries
remembering water
the lives and lives of it
in the soil as if to tell us, not here;


mouth, lips, tongue

mouth, lips, tongue
we don’t kiss that way here

because i danced for the fire
and then slipped into his flames, like a lover

where bodies cease to exist
in the ineffable within which i myself breathe

sometimes things are almost unmoving, like a hammock
in the far unknown distance, i often hear its whisper
bare and beating

waning in and out
of touch

unsteady pulse in steady waves
until an echo swells into a sound
on the hardwood

how young
the years from now
(or the end of this book)
when i’ll hear your footsteps
approaching me up on the circling staircases
bringing me the water

and i’ll remember the distance we walked lubov
and all the things that led us back to our hearts

i’ll call it:

the god-like things

say sea

say sea
and say it slow
say it backwards in my ear

so that maybe i forget how deep in love
i fell to kneel
on cold majolica tiles
searching for a tiny place
white enough like paradise
take me in

say it wasn’t real
say we’ve said it all
until the night


the stars

and the walls so gentle like blue sugar it all melts
and in every way you
find me home

as if i am a dream my body has

in perpetual seas
maybe i could have loved you more
all those evenings i held you
as if i could hold you
even unkept
time keeps us
like souvenirs, the years
i picked the tiniest pebble and stayed up late
muslin rains to gather us
as if i am a dream my body has
from time to time we almost touch
through the hours, perhaps it could have been enough
to slip ourselves loose from the reasons
and i’m still waiting for something
precious, something small
something more than needed

only ever you

say the quiet grows around me
promise you know i’m still here

say the slip of light is what we lacked
to pin my hands on your chest
for not just tonight

when senses become emigrants
and have stopped taking me, say
the leftover waters will not empty me
of you someday

say i wasn’t here again
because you still sleep on just half the bed

because lampposts still measure the heavy lengths
involved in our longing

say we’ll leave some choices
still warm
on the pillows beside us

and i’ll place along my body tiny pebbles
or fireflies

so the leavings are lighter
and then know how to come back

the god-like things

from room to room we carried each other
and our ordinary gestures throughout
the years, passing by the often overlooked
the sometimes unremembered

god-like things

everything in life begins with noticing
so here: i give you back the old house
placed oil jars beside the front doors
for tender are the openings

do what the returning do: love.
because what you’ll smell here is true: love.

and this room has a lemon dome
and this room has spiritual textiles
and this room has curtains of lace fidelity

it’s an intimacy triptych

embroidered traditions like warm ovens
divine cottons, reach far, high
on the top shelf the tea is still waiting
now i too am tempted
to slip back
into echoing, responding and honouring
to stretch myself over the sensitive listening walls

kitchen windows understand:
love is threaded
to the floors
soil-sweat, like us
pressing noses to skins
rediscovering, relearning
the kissing, the holding and the caring

no, you haven’t forgotten the way to love
because i heard your footsteps, bringing me water that night
when you too were struggling with a cold

do we measure time by love’s approach on the circling staircases?

count the roses on the bedroom wallpapers

or try oil.
because i like how our bodies glided
throughout the years, from room to room
how we carried each other
and our god-like things: love.
and we do what the returning do: love.
because what we smell here is still

true: love.

delicate blue southern night

what sadness to finally swim
towards asphalt

because that’s how blind waves become approaching
the steel breasts of summer’s end

after i know
what pleasure is
to be suspended weightless
in your arms
naked as a delicate blue southern night

how could i ever love anyone or anything else
after such pleasure of being yours?

… i, a stellium
of water, you
without words
like true love

fate calls me on the radio
i start loving you again
i meet you
even more tender
in the morning
memories sync like an old vhs movie scene
a dance, a melody

because you’re gone.

because the cold northern streets are as clean as forgetting
like the bed, so tidied and cold as if almost forgetting

if only for you to emerge
clearer from deeper
more liminal
more real
more loud

when drought pushes us
against blue mirrors

i leave myself with stars
without windows

a watched thing

a night
of love or a love
of night, a man
of love or a love
of man

a waning moon
is wearing
i swim with a peach
taste in my mouth
can’t get better than this,
tells me the sea but i know
lovemaking in the deep cool lakes
past the forest cathedrals
a leafy path
that priestess
often takes

you should know
i was the lover of hades
without fear
drinking wine not meant for me

so i oil my body for gentler leaving

to reimagine the inside of his shirt
and jasmine
i rain 9 miles to walk
upstream to visit him
beloved bed the wooden lake
holding branches tenderly
such tender love is
hard for some
because of sound
tongue put on chest
slides towards the navel
turn into a heartbeat, treeman
standing silverlit
in mystery mysterious
i learn to be

a watched thing.

dear lucia

because a human heart can only hold a love
as much as was felt through the childhood eyes

vanilla and ylang ylang are airing from my bathtub
still within we breathe the old things still
i am a sensitive night of lanterns
pulling myself over the furniture where shadows
have spread their bodies over fragile memories
& innocence 
in then of then is now
of now even the smallest part
of myself i can’t separate

dear lucia: you were my last doll

the one i still hold whole in my hands
because how can hands ever forget
the hope that once perfumed them

here is where i take him
behind my breasts
here is where he takes me
(blood way)
without hands
take me
this gift of mine
this gentle female heart
of mine
this mine
this ours

& all feelings hit me
in the right places

& this love between us
never changes