No Filter

the good girl stays in check
and chooses not to hit send
on the like, the umpteenth video –
the kind you’ll never get.
because the strings are carrying a note:
telling her to just chill,
some things are worth the wait –
and so, she will.

Fs in the Chat

It’s all a bit unsteady-eddie
the machine is in disrepair
a cooling tick
and metal shavings
they say this is the smell of space
the scent of the black expanse
where unstable orbits
inevitably collide
for the light show
Fs in the chat, boys
Fs in the chat.

Trust Me, I’m a Doctor

The hand quivers, the fingers numb –
clenched to the steering wheel
the colour of concentration,
his thumb taps ever-so-timely
now a long-forgotten song.
a talent so lovingly pruned
here, now, it seeks the muse
and to be the muse
of the man with the fingers;
dripping with paint
and oh those baby-blues
with light refracting heart-snare
step into the vortices
and take me,
take me there.

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