If the World Were Flat.

 I hold your hand in mine as summer warmth and nightly wonder persuade us closer. In my arms you feel small and your face is turned and gently pressed, against my chest. Your bare feet match mine, and on the concrete beneath us, lies chalk portraits from girls and boys. In awe of night and dark each star delivers a promise to yield curiosity and thought. Where amongst the silence of the sky and the calm of the wind we collect from each other and in lack of words do not find lack of connection nor understanding nor comfort. Fleeting moments of time where there is nothing else but two people in an insurmountable universe where surely their lies everything – yet in these moments they feel as if they have already attained it.

Passage from a story I’m working on.

Passage from a story I’m working on.


Lets stay awake all night and listen to old vinyl records.

Smoky voices and wailing guitars dip their toes in our young aqueous minds.

Ripples spread like dandelion seeds,

inflicting thoughts of pretty things, and wonderful dreams.

Our backs against this empty bed, a lost generation invades us.

We stare against the spinning disc, and hear its occasionally cracking.

Your head against my chest. In silence we rest wading permanently in each other’s minds.

The vinyl revival we endorse plays tribute to a generation of love,

and in it’s influence our love grows.