Frosted Blades


Frosted blades scratch seamless sky,

angry to find no scars.

Serrated edge draws no blood,

nor sawing motion, vein;

Wind is no ally

when renewed rigour

results in naught.

Pain pitched at a hushed heaven

grows boomerang eyes;

the spy’s sabotage

skilfully dissects

along lines traced by rote.

Silvered cycle,

shameful circle,

drawn by frosted blades…

I’m Holding My Breath


I’m holding my breath, lest it melt all your silver,

I’m exhaling slow, lest excitement consume;

I’m slowing my heart, lest its beats quell your music,

I’m stilling my soul, lest its vibrance entomb.


Some moments are meant to be savoured, slow…