Candyfloss was the obvious choice, but I was no obvious child. I was as mild as the mown down grass in the school grounds where my legs tanned.
This shell could never have lived on a beach, its skin like the inside of coconut, curls, only mimics the movement of rock-pool water.
Take a leaf, walk its lifelines with your fingers. Make its shape with your hands, its perfect oval an alternate world.
You said it was parasitic, feeding off trees, mimicking snow, rolled by the elves into crystal balls, masking the cold resistance of berry fists.
Angel cold, the wet-nosed rain became a crochet shower - star-shaped, bon-bon powdery, tentative, childlike, shy and soft.
The wind soothsays in the key of G, sighing, I match my tone to his. In our duet I hold out strong, harmonise . . .
A cat is a witch's companion of choice. A cat is also a household pet. Both identities sit at ease within the animal's elegant...
'Paths' is a poem about that crossover time between autumn and winter; for me, characterised by falling yellow leaves and the appearance of chestnuts...
The floral fade of a battered couch, background to the fiercest moment, when I was happy to feel your skin warm my skin.