You are here
Here in this house
Here, in this room
We sit together
In meditation
Also, in the bedroom
We lay together
To become closer
More-so than in love
Most days I would try to write a poem; it is a practice, as I suppose is meditation, or smiling, or watching the world go by
You are here
Here in this house
Here, in this room
We sit together
In meditation
Also, in the bedroom
We lay together
To become closer
More-so than in love
Finding my feet
Friday morning’s flight
Giving all
To the new direction
Met at the airport
Taken to the shops
Then onto Mon Plaisir
For a close and warm embrace
Our life
A cosmos
On a pinhead
In the Exhibition
Without strife
A fine dust
Particulate
Situation
I have been to many places
Alone and alone
I have studied lots of subjects
By myself and by myself
I have listened to millions of songs
With my own company for accompaniment
I sat on buses, trains and aeroplanes
Taking just the one seat, just the one
I watched football in the park
Not joining in, no not joining in
I self-published my books of poetry
For only me to read, only me to read
Now I am studying psychology and counselling
But I have no clients or patience
Is that why
She wore a mini-skirt
Or was it because
She thought
If she looked good
She felt good
And that was
In her mind
Way better