Short poems

Eleven.

Eleven.
28th July 2018.

What do I want to know?
Every rainbow every half dream.
Every ripped unfulfilled damaged seam.
Each curled expression, a pressure, a tension.
A breezy walk, a sweet indiscretion.
What do I know?
Borderline obsession.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

Airless wonder.

Airless wonder.
27th July 2018

There’s no spare air anywhere.
You took it and slipped it into a magic vial to your pocket.
Vanished for eternity.
The you I still seek in all calls is not off peak.
It’s love man, it’s deep.
Waterlogged and up your legs I creep.
It’s an echo of your form. A ghost of will. A picture that I used to be.
You live still on but only inside me.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

The soft touch game.

The soft touch game.

20/05/2018

You like to play the soft touch game don’t you?

Soft touch. I like you.

I’m taking this.

Soft touch. I love you.

I’m taking that.

Soft touch. You’re special.

I want a gold cat on a marble pedestal with a purple saxophone and a multigym with a personal trainer.

Soft touch. I’ll see you later.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

Kindness & kings.

Kindness and kings.

01/06/2018

So kind the way his strong fingers play with your mind.

tussling your hair, starting to bind.

Hex threads with a kneading stress releasing duress.

The ultimate pain confession that’s heaven no less.

You’re the fork in the road in which he gets to trespass.

Begone dark memories and clouds galore.

Clarity in a moment wiped clean to the floor.

Purge the resistance and taken in totality.

I’ll be your man. You’ll be reality.

You might nurse heartache and blisters.

You’ll never forget the way he kissed ya.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

Danger Man

Danger Man

01/06/2018

Don’t dare to care for a danger man on the whim of a careful “I can.”

You can’t.

You won’t.

You’ll be the scapegoat.

It might be fun hun, cut throat with a two gun hip tote.

But when you cry real stop – he won’t.

The roleplay man on the other hand.

Crucified dead pan all gagged up and tied down shares his what why’s and when you’re upside down.

He’s your people.

You’re his town.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

It was there in our eyes.

It was there in our eyes.

19/06/2018

Couldn’t hide it.

It was there in our eyes.

Unique obsession.

Our obsession.

Like the answer to the ultimate question.

Sore, raw and on the top of our tongues like painful trepidation.

On an expedition and the country was my self expression.

The expanse and growth intense.

Reluctance by chance and choice.

Hypnotised by sight and by voice.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

My supernatural apparition

My Supernatural apparition

08/06/2018

I’ve tried remorseful apologies.

Forgiving eulogies and bagpipes with a twenty-four gun salute.

I’ve tried candles and wire.

Our old songs and no sunshine.

A few old lines at a time with fire.

I’ve tried the demonic press, the Ouija and a thousand rounds of pure duress to the back and the head and I confess.

My love for you has beyond transgressed.

Of this leaves the deepest impression,

You’re my favourite superstition.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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