Our Merry Dance

Ginni bites!

Each evening you leave me,

Amongst broken whips and chains.

Yet every night, I follow you,

Like a dog.

Keeping notes of your pleasures,

your midnight secrets,

Your dreams.

And in the morning l lie,

Weary and worn, but wanting.

Then you leave me again.

This is our dance, you and I

Our waltz of passion,

My tango of shame.

You play out the steps well,

And I am a fool for your tune.

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Depth of matter

It doesn’t matter does it?

If my feet are tired and I can no longer dance

It couldn’t matter, could it?

That we no longer waltz together on the moors whilst the moon yawns down upon us

It wouldn’t matter, would it?

If my bones are pressed deep into the dirt at the foot of your bed, cold and damp in August

It shouldn’t matter, should it?

That we lost our souls that day the rain came, when we buried each other up to our necks in lust

It didn’t matter, did it?

It never did

The Dance

Back to this incessant dance.
The gentle to and fro of being,
Following steps unknown
With feet unwilling
Trying to keep up
With the ever changing beat

One day the dance is wild
The next day, slow
And demure

Following an erratic composer
Into the ether
It’s exhausting

Fairy rings

The dance is afoot
Music lines the fallen leaves
As flecks flutter together
Taking care not to collide
A shimmering mass of being
Flitting between bluebells
Circling spotted fungi
Rising together in spectacular hue
Hidden in plain sight
Yet rarely seen at all
Visible only to inculpable souls
Eyes untarnished by the colours of the world
A marvel to behold
If only we were innocent

Mutations of Love

In childhood, it was sweet and pure
Daisy chains with my amore
Early teens, awkward and shy
A fluttering heart as love walks by
At eighteen passion tied with pain
Each heated death bled tears in vain
Obsession, lust, a heart at war
The complex love at twenty four
A few years on and still confused
Doused in fire, scorned and bruised
At thirty, flecked and fortified
A leap of faith and mortified
By thirty five, footsteps demure
Walls in place, encased secure
At forty lives a gentle hum
Sparks of joy, open to some
Fifties hopping, showing cracks
Unstable thoughts revealing facts
At sixty comfortable and slow
Set in stone, nowhere to go
A simple smile in seventies
Glancing, dancing, pleasantries
This changing tide, this vast cruel sea
Does love mutate, or is it me?