“Am I still your favourite person?”

I asked, eyes wide,

Arms wrapped behind my back like folded

Linen laundry,

Egyptian cotton.

Can you unfold me and

tug at the frayed  edges until we forget they existed,

Kiss me clean.

“Am I still your favourite person?” I ask,

Or just forgotten



The Ice Man

Egotistical gargoyle of a man

With your pretentious stance

and stoic brain,

with your harsh edges

and stone cold hands

you could have killed

a man

with that ice

that you possess

with the robotic coldness

of your presence.


The ice will never melt

Even when you try to love him with your

Red hot fire heart

that beats in a rib cage of flames,


He will not hesitate to put it out.