He makes of her his kingdom, knows nothing else but her milk flowing for him: the flick of her tongue interrupting sleep. It's only when...

As soon as the old dog is dead, we pull a plant over to where his bed has been. But that is not enough. So we pair it with a card table...

If there is a temple, it is under our eaves, the altar made of sheets and you the feast. If there is sacrament, it is the ritual kiss on...

The trees applaud the finish of the first act The night is excited She stretches arms skywards Spreads her fingers wide like starfish...

The Zoom doctor saw how I had ripped out my stomach by sticking my fist down my throat. He wasn’t surprised. &&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&...

Metallic bonding occurs between the atoms of metal elements. The outer electrons are free to move. This produces an electrostatic force...

trouble travels on many winds and snags itself in sunshine hair This morning, after the phone call from my mum, I try to reach the girl,...

Do you have to go? Elsie asks. Iris is sat, not nibbling on marmite toast. It’s good for us. It’s good for you that we’re in love. No,...

You suck in smoke like something beautiful is trapped and then released. I want that part of you. I want the tobacco kiss that stirs...

There is carbon and protein and the harsh taste of iron, the push and the pull of the spinning electrons to get to the core with the...

Just left of darkness, our soon sleeping shapes are licked by night’s blank face.

Through the fog, she reached forward, unembroidered his brocade- gold against black- and picked him apart. With fingers deft, she drew...

The black feathers scribble invisible ink letters to long lost lovers across the furthest arcing reaches of the textured off-white sky....

More like a wife, curved thigh to thigh and sculpted back to belly: held tight by tattoed arms and warmed.

I miss your bare bone head: moleskin soft and shaved.

I fall from a thousand metres up into crushed white sheets to sleep – wrecked with love. Photo by Lum3n from Pexels

I’m hiding in the looped double eff of the title, sniggering, wondering whether it alludes to something (obviously nothing lofty like...

A holiday in Whitby. A gypsy. And me. Red faced and eager anxious – heart beating and shallow breathing – catching the taste of fate from...

Stands he or sits he? She wonders which as she lies naked, asp-gasping, beneath Egyptian sheets: the king of cottons, fit for a queen. Or...

Five-a-side football sweat, salt on skin & cigarettes. Photo by Mong Mong from Pexels