Month: July 2011

My Woman

My woman is a guitar.
She lies next to me.
When she is playing
I like to be a song on her lips, however
They are made of steel
My fingers hurt if I play too much.

My woman is the guitar on my bed.
She is my best friend.
When we cry together we cry the same tune.
She is a good listener and I am also very attentive
I caress her neck pressing carefully near the backbone,
she is always grateful.
I love the way she smiles with a O shaped mouth.

My woman is a guitar.
Sometimes at night when we are making love
cats and possums hear us through the bedroom window
They go crazy
they think it’s a circus.

Folding Colour

The colour of towels
hang in my house
down, like waterfall
from door-corners and window sills.

Some outside
some on racks
All open mouthed
spread welcome.

I have paintings also. They are static.
The towels move around.
They’re the colours of angels
blessing a clothesline
or bedroom floor.

If I’m wet they dry me
if they’re wet I dry them
It’s a good arrangement.

They smile at me, and often
break into laughter
when I attempt folding

they think it’s a hoot
trying to fold away colour