Cemented Breath

i- Stone serpent conjured, erected by human hands. Rim charmed by passing souls runs, and rides along, protects. It shelters, and hides, undulates aside the lake. Man-crafted mineral matter, winding frontier between land and water, setting apart liquid body and earthy dust, stitching Advertisements


“My reality is declining. I’m lost in translation between the world with you and its bland alternate without.”

Fabricated Flowers

“It felt like a nothing disguising a something in hiding. My instinct was telling me there was something, or someone, watching me. It was right there in this wall. I did not know what it was. All I knew was what I could feel, and I was rarely wrong when my senses came to play.”


Homework check. Tucked in bed, good night kiss, night embrace, Morning hug, loving smile – away you go. School all day. Back home. Lively chats, interest shown to a young adult in the making. That’s all they need, and up they grow.


Eyes reach, meet shyly. Lips share soft words clumsily. Souls smile heartily.

Theia*’s Servants

Sheer flickering lights popping on and dying out. Ephemeral life dancing on water too fast for our human eye to comprehend. We watch, breathless, as these soft, ethereal creatures bring on their weightless performance, sparkle, and slide their way on the lake,


Irresistibly I am drawn to you. Dawn of another life etching before me, as your shades exposed to light imprint on live film. A new page is turned. Time unfolds, performs, acts as a complex series of chemical baths, developing, then stopping, fixing, and washing.


And it has started… Another year of alarm clocks ringing, Early showers flowing and waiting… For trains. I am stepping in


  Around me I see shapes I am surrounded Disorientated There are too many forms   I can’t escape I am a prisoner of this world Of fakes and breaks, And tears/i:/ and tears/e/ They come and grab me, Try to catch a glimpse, Cling to a piece of me.

Paris Fantastique

Paris is a living, breathing, thriving art scene. Street faces are ever changing. Every fortnight, an anonymous fresco replaces another. So much is exposed, fleetingly, then disappears, covered and covered again. So much is shown. So much is hidden, brushed over, never to be seen again.


“Words of time, traveling to the stars beyond. Words of love, drowning in the memory rains. Words of mine, falling down upon dreams of tomorrow.” – Ivor

Sunny Smile

“What sunshine is to flowers, smiles are to humanity. These are but trifles, to be sure; but scattered along life’s pathway, the good they do is inconceivable.” ― Joseph Addison