Tag Archives: love

Inter Lingua 

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Playground Push 

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Love after love 

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Despite

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Bargaining 

I started with a cool 2 billion.

I was a ‘high roller’.

I lost 11,000 a month. 

I laid them out like bargaining chips for love. 

A Dr. told me I’d been a fool then asked for more of them: 

‘I’ll take 300 for 10 grand’. 

But even she couldn’t give me any guarantees. 

As a 37 year old woman I’m learning there is a price you pay for love. 

I went to do the maths in fact and found myself dropping cartons at Coles with every zero that racked up on my phone. 

The store cleaner looked at all the shells, yolk and white around me.

‘You’ll have to pay for those’ they said. 

‘I already have’ I replied. 

‘I started with a cool 2 billion’.

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Untitled 

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Of

We are told to replace love.

That is the way to do it the world says.

‘The best way to get over someone is to get under them’.

Whoever dictated such ludicrousy has surely felt the weighted ache

For love is a tangling far greater than under and over.

It is through-

Becomes the strengthening of cartilage in your bones

the oxytocin & the forging of neural pathways

(strong enough that you can no longer remember a time when you didn’t hang the washing out THIS way).

It is beside-

Even in absence (tell me – how long have you left their side of the bed void?)

It is behind-

in memory, now distorted, heightened and illuminating all choices

you. are. making. from. now.

Over and under is but one way to tangle.

When one is knotted intestinally

the gut knows it will take a greater unravelling.

Certainly my body cannot betray my love to something you can achieve 90percent of the time.

For it is through, beside, behind and now

of

me.

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A Time for Lovers

 

If it was the cool beginnings of winter that made his kisses visible in the dark night air,

she wondered why,

all flushed cheeks under the shelter of a bus stop in the middle of nowhere –

why summer was so often written as the time for lovers.

Surely,

skin prickling, bubbling, upwards,

silence only breaking in the rustling of jackets and tongues warm beyond cold lips

…surely this was the season for lovers.

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Untitled 

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Decathect 

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