More (Subspace #9)

Let love be assumed.

It is not more nor less

For the bond between our molecules.

We met because we loved

And there is nothing to be gained,

Or lost in our parting.

And what crackles in our spaces

Is more than They crave:

Less than a ripple,

Yet still

It crashes

When you fuck the universe

Through me

And I know death at your hand


Where more

Nullifies less

Until we



Gravity (Subspace #8)

Let me cling to the earth a while longer,

Bring my centre of gravity down.

I’ll weigh soaring through oblivion

With sitting in this groove

And learn to love the dreams where I can fly;

Let me ground myself:

Feet to earth,

Dance back my power

‘Ere I disintegrate,

My gravity shattered into something new.

Watch me and be elevated

Brought low



And we are the moment of conception,

The birth of stars stretched out through time:

Your touch the creation of atom,

My gravity to bring you home.

The Goblin Queen

Note: Sometimes I randomly write sonnets. Usually they are rude, lewd and dangerous to know, but somehow this one came out as an homage to Christina Rossetti’s 1862 children’s poem, Goblin Market. Which oddly enough is rude, lewd and dangerous to know. Just in a Victorian kinda way…

The Goblin Queen surveyed the country lane,

The two shaken young girls, one quite enthralled,

That sister’s loss, the goblin kingdom’s gain;

The Queen, she rose and to her minions called.

They tempted innocence with sweetest fruit,

They sang a song of pleasure without end.

They danced and played upon a magic flute,

And promised maidens fair their flowers to tend.

But girls should never trust a goblin’s song:

Their cheerful voices hide darkness within.

And by your heart, they would have you do wrong,

And drench your chaste spirit in lustful sin.

Can sister’s soul be rescued ‘ere she fall,

By sister’s love, the tend’rest of them all?

Viscosity (Subspace #7)

Defying Newton’s law

We collide.


We, shockwave




We earthquake,

Birthing continents

New and untainted.


And we try to destroy one another.

And come close.


But sweat-slicked and with kisses barely tremors

The slap of our fuck


And we are blended


And sinking


Down to where our bones will rest

After we are consumed by the slow wave

Of our love.

Fingerprints (Subspace #6)

The rules we set are ours

A pas de deux stretched out

For hours spent in breathless syncope

Weightless as a whispered kiss

Heavy as the voice that promises thunder

A living sculpture made in parity

Press in your thumbs and shape a soul

A heart

A cunt

And leave your fingerprints behind there

Where your touch creates Pandora

Glory (Subspace #5)

Squeeze out my breath and steal it

Stop my blood

My light

And in them bathe

In Infinity’s womb

To be



My gift to you

Claim your power and weld it to my own.

Rend my seams

Restitch them in a pattern of our choosing

That I may be beautifully scarred

At your hand

And my seams run through yours

Shot with silver and gold

And all things precious.

Pull me apart with your rough strong hands

And I will gift you my










And I make you.


The person within me (a.k.a Yin Yang)

The person within me is often without:

Lame with certainty sometimes, sometimes crippled with doubt.

Sometimes kicking and hitting and scratching and biting,

Forging out from within, she will come out fighting.

She is fractal, atomic, galactic, ecstatic;

Expansive, whilst infinitesimally small.

She can be fractious, acidic, chaotic, quixotic,

She endures for the squall that will signal the fall.

She endures for destruction, the chaos of growing;

The patterns pervasive, the sowing of knowing.

You can’t squash her, she is the root of a tree,

The drip-drip in a cave, the slow surge of the sea

That wears at the shoreline, languid, unhurried,

High-tidal-low-tide, she will worry, unworried.

She will rip off your hand while she gives you a heart;

She is maths, she is music, she is science and art.

She is everything you are, in fact, she is you:

She thinks just as you think, she does as you do.

She’s down with the in-crowd, she’s out on a limb;

She is cavernous, empty, and full to the brim.

Undeniably, she is more tortoise than hare…

Which seems fair.