A poem about waking up from a good dream.

So I had a dream about you last night
and, fuck
even now
as I write this
my throat is aching
urging for content
and recoiling from the bitter mirage
that bloomed
without mine willing it so
beneath a Christmas tree canopy
of lights and shadow play,
I sat
this is a dream world revised now,
So bare with me
I looked down and saw you there,
the face that haunts
and was so obviously you
olympic shock, and elation brimming
both of us conjoined
in the stare that lasted lifetimes,
our mutual disbelief
muffled the scene
as I scaled down the holiday exhibition,
you met me
held me, pressed me, hungry
so now the fantasy
of lust set alight
gnashes at the pertinent
the familiar
The change of framing
from that world to this
is viceral
and the dawn becomes
a scientist
an illusionist
and yet , there had been a kiss
then comfort
in knowing that things had changed
after the flood
and exact colours seized
so true to life
before my eyes opened
to a plane of black
and the liquid longing expelled
I am here
and I have awoken
to love lost.


Day 4 Poem

how capable

you have proven yourself to be

or is it persistence?

now a haunting cut – out

in my sleep

in moving images


I stir

and swear you off

“this is a dream!”

I cry it into

the far reaches of my mind

only to be met with

the familiar lure of


a bedrom

an embrace

and you


This is what my early – afternoon looks like. I find its always beneficial to return to Walden Pond when life grows chaotic.


(Side note) What books do you find yourself returning to, time and again?