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...

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...

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

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

This girl, this English nurse, flings her flaming hair over the bath and sings. We laugh – we, who were born to be Dovedale mothers and...