I live in Singapore with my gorgeous husband and equally gorgeous son. Also a Beagle.
I have been writing since 1756 (its feels like it) and have bits and pieces published all over the place. Except for the Hustler. And Vegans Weekly. Also, Latex for Fun.
Three important things about me:
Three other things about me:
Cry to Vivaldi's Gloria and Empire of the Sun
Bake my own bread
And another thing :
Experiencing the IVF protocol so please treat tenderly.
Your eyes coal-rimmed, poignant
and busted by betrayal.
You and I, knee to knuckle,
skinny with disorders and
blurred around our edges.
Challenged by our experience
and the ash of past-love
dusting the grate, the state, the grace
of our rose-chipped future
You speak of waves, of tides, of flecked foamy fingers
the wildness of the hub
the depth of boundless deep, of fathomless sleep.
But what of the tack of your lips along the rim of my glass.
Off the nuthatch at five - breathless and hoarse.
Or the sweat and scent of Absinthe - powerful from the pores.
And what of the coarse feel of stubble - like thistle but comes out rose
on the delicate skin behind my ear. Or the silent tear of translucent
that weeps a trail along my thigh.
The saltine cracks that appear in the corner of my mouth past midnight.
The fury of a gaze when I am above you cornering your bliss
and you find yourself forgotten in the ridge and hum of mouth.
(Homage to Mr Lewis)
A Finial butterfly had weaved
Its Doric way toward
the safety of a toffin Gump
and its Hypercast reward
Woovish from its Indigo flight
and Jambled by the Sconce
It’s Basillica'd wings forgot to sing
and it flopped to the Fluted tonce
Rampant from its Broach-ed Spire
and doofed by a Slype cinch
it Pavillione'd round for half and hour
before surrender to the Squinch.