Tag Archives: adoration


My wife bought
tickets for us all,
for a Sunday morning
magic show by a man
who calls himself
‘The Mentalist’.

I know. I know.

But if you are seven
months pregnant
you get your way
in pretty much anything.

‘What’s a mentalist?’
asked my eight year old.

‘Someone who can read
other people’s mind.’
said his mother.

‘I don’t wanna go then.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I have
secrets in my head I
don’t want anybody
to know’

My teeth ached
from a sudden,
desire to bite him.

Anything that sweet
is totally edible.



Let’s agree to disagree.

You are free to believe
that you will die alone
in an old people’s home

Let me believe that we’ll
be making love on the moonlit
beaches  of Goa well
into our seventies.

And doing Class A drugs

And dancing at all night raves.

You are free to believe  that we can
never be together.

Let me believe we can not be pried apart. Ever.

Please be convinced that we’ll  be
over each other in another
six months.

Let me be convinced that we will
be together for another sixty years.
At the very least.

Please have no doubt that
this is just a passing thing.

Please let me have no
doubt that this is fucking ‘it’.

You are entitled to your opinions.
I am entitled to mine.

And mine, by the way,
are  way better than yours.

You don’t think so?


Let’s agree to disagree

You don’t have to

What we have
is based on respect.

You don’t have to meet me.
You don’t  have to reply to
my messages.
You don’t have to
take my calls.
You don’t have to sleep with me.

There is no ‘have to’.
We are lovers, remember?
There is only ‘want to’.

I want to daydream about you.
I want to hear your voice.
I want to eat you mouth.
I want you in my arms.

All the time.

Not out of any.
sense of obligation.
Or duty.

Everything I do, I do
because I want madly,
deeply, absolutely to do it.

Please never take
me for granted.

Don’t disrespect
my concern for you.

If I even sense that
I will forget you
before you reach the end
of this shitty little



I tasted her cooking
for the first time yesterday.

That was yummy too.


Today my son was a cake
In his school play.

A big brown cake
made of cardboard
sat on his head.

Otherwise  he was
entirely  edible.

I drooled in the audience
as he skipped about
on the stage,  one
hand balancing
his cake hat
and the other
in his pocket.

Like Alanis Morissette,
just way  yummier.

I understood
the essence of
cannibalism when
I covered him with kisses

It’s a  fond ache in
the jaws.

A devouring love for
a thing so sweet you
wanna eat it up.