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Author of queer, wry sci fi/fantasy books. On Amazon.
Editor of all fiction genres.

Tuesday, 30 August 2016

Why not

Writing poetry was always about

falling in love with someone

a certain girl or a boy who made my knees weaken when

the sun caught their deep blue or brown eyes a certain way

when fringed eyelashes brushed on soft cheeks and

white or brown skin took on a hint of rose


but now, I am not on the hunt;

am I allowed to see a muse in the mirror?

Perhaps I can set aside years of hate and antipathy and invisiblity and

fall in love with

myself.

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As always, be excellent unto others, and don't be a dick.

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