In between the mundane seconds of a yellow Sunday afternoon and the stale poppies melting on my ill windowsill I hear your grey voice rushing in sea waves Echoing in my brain's camphoraceous caves Conquering my body like it's a war zone fighting for my sanity And the faces of your face are rip-offs clinging …


I let you under my skin flowing and pouring, growing and gushing Now my brain is bursting, my heart is exploding I catch my breath; Whilst you outrun my death You are all over my spaces, You are the flavour of my creative juices