Sun Worshipper

His golden cast upon my sill,

His kiss upon the air,

Lounging like a sultry cat

Whose gaze falls everywhere.

When his scorching eye favours me,

I disrobe and drop like a fly
To be pressed beneath his humid thumb
Though in the shade I lie.
Even in the darkness
His influence still holds true,
Melting me with fever,
My skin bejewelled with sweat like dew
And I am unable to escape him
In the blissful land of sleep
For across my body I feel
His fiery fingers creep.
But even so I love him
For the joy his light instils
And the beauty he can show me
That inspires the deepest chills.

To my unlikely lover
xXx

A Study in Mundane Resurrection

Be silent and be still

for though surrounded by people

solitude still remains

here in a sea of weathered stone

and vacant-eyed angels.

Let them steal the very breath

which they no longer possess

if only to raise awareness

of their very presence all around.

But in that hush there is life still;

their very presence given flesh

as, transcended from the grave,

they take flight,

giving their voices new purpose

as they sing their praises,

and walk again as never before -

as robin or wren,

pigeon or peregrine,

song-thrush or swan.