one day you’ll wake up

and you’ll realize that

when you sleep, the two

of you breathe in time,

like tides of the ocean, he

is the moon that guides 

the sea and you are the

sun that governs his days

and nights, inhale for the 

sunrise in reds and yellows,

exhale for the dusk, purples 

and blues, he likes every 

shade of you, and will 

love every color to come. 



How long has it been

since arms have felt 

this much like home,

since hands on waists

spelt out so many words

with every morse code 

tap of finger tips, since

kisses on cheeks made 

so many promises in

so few days, I have my

fingers crossed for his 

promises of tomorrow. 


How can you be so heartbroken

over someone you never loved,

people you never lost, those who

you saw but never found. Words

on a page in cursive so poorly

written that no love can come from

them, with a form so contorted

that no kind word could be spoken

but the phrases pour like water

out a glass so full but still so empty,

paradoxical and naïve, the vaguest

emptiness, the promise of forever

in a day that couldn’t last.


the fact is that 

it was always you, you know.

who else could it ever
be? in this world of

blacks and whites my love you were

technicolor vibrancy,
you were and always

will be the moon when it rises 

and the stars when it


Please try to not forget that

I see you, each and every day. 

In every armchair I see all of

the stories you told, in every

teacup is the scalding brew 

you drank, in every outdoor 

endeavor is your disdain for the 

cold, but love of walking dogs,

of your breath in the air on frosty

mornings and the lights of the garden. 
Every television plays

a loop of Westerns and reruns 

of Irish standup comedy, on

every plate sits biscuits, every 

microwave is always set to two

minutes, for how could anything 

ever be warm enough until it

burnt through two towels and some

In every pair of hands 

I can’t help but see yours, 

turning newspaper pages, 

finishing crossword puzzles,

and perhaps what frightens 

me the most are the unfinished 

ones, that will now wait 

forever to be finished, always 

a piece missing, 
how desperately appropriate.


For a love of mine

When you remind me

to write, do not forget that

you are reminding

me to be myself.

To take my morning breath,

to make tea before

I fall asleep, to

face this world of hate, never

allowing the light

of blind optimism

be smothered by the smoke of

modernism, of “our times”,

because times are

changing and you need not

say it in words —

I doubt you could

string the sentence together,

stumbling over pride

— but I know that you

want the world that I see to be the

vision of tomorrow

for every one of us,

a utopia formed on charisma

and genuine goodwill

and for you, oh for you,

I will.

Aeroplane rides

I am so

tired but


evades me,

I can feel the shifts

in the earth as

the boundaries of body

disintegrate and I

become one with the

stars and the planets,

I flew all night in their

happy little wonderland

but a metal monster

brought me down to these

grasses, I am so


I sway

as if on

a boat, sailing

on oceans of

galaxies, on the

sea of a cosmos, I feel

much too big to be confined

to this small planet, make me

a star, the sun, the solar system

because I cannot find the edges

of myself, am I a person or these

bedsheets, tell me in the morning,

when I am less