Off the tongue.

Those words, that trip
off the tongue
roll in streaks
like spilt honey,
the tip

then a slow sweet
drip, drip,
Just off the beat of
your hearts’
tick tick tock
tick tock tock

Curved voice, cut phrase.
Finds ear.
Everything fits.
Syllables sit snug between
the warmth of the metre
and the rhythm’s hot click.
While the rhyme watches, seduced.

It twists and winds

Banks to one side,
the mind of the listener
lists, with it.
Left to right and back.
In the heat
of the lines scribed.

Crosses T blithely,
to give I the eyes.

Absorbed by arrays
of by the bys.
And the way
they’re woven raw,
then structured,
described – given burning life.

portrays the beauty
of the ordinary
And the silences and spaces are
just as

They are
in the verse that takes you in
the short,
awkward pauses.

Those reddening moments.
They’re the hot breaths
on your neck
in between sweet nothings
The tense, turgid
before the storm, or after.

Floating ecstatic moments, fractured
when the syntax bites back.
It has the deepest part of you
In a fine hairline trap.
It keeps you there,
with the addicted, restless toe tap.

Serenely stuck,
It drinks you in
whilst you quench yourself on it
and when you try
to sleep,
rest won’t come.
The vivid images flit.

Despite the heavy eyelids
the sights and sounds
in your mind, live.
And if you’re honest,
really honest,
You don’t want them to leave you be.
Do you?


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