Brett Foster

Would you like to feel that I am here
to catch your tears with mine?
Would I see your smile if I told you
that you fall on me divine?

She glissades along the hallway shedding a vermilion ribbons to reveal creamy curves of porcelain which reflect and embellish my brume desire.

I used to live in a world that
Prized courtship
And romance.
Now dating is on speed.

Adrift of audience, his aged frame supported askew his old grand, his friend,
he recalled the fading moments from recent past as a soliloquy.

Tonight I watched you in a crowded room.

I took a stroll through the cemetery today. That’s the best word for it.

It wasn’t premeditated. It was, I suppose, opportunistic. I could waste hours analysing the decision but it was li…

I am not ready. Purple is my deepest silence, my slumber of succour.
I grasp its rich fur by a familiar corner and halt the cascade.

She is the writer.
She opens herself up to interpretation.
Or misinterpretation.
She is brave.

Her hair tied back in ribbons of time
and rainbows glistening rain.
So now I see her pretty face
without the squint of pain.

Her shoulders bare in a strapless dress
so pure and formed fo…

Awake or asleep, it matters not to me, so make your preparations.
And say your final prayers. In the end I will utterly annihilate you.

My knees scrape upon it.
I thrust my toes deep.
My hands quest into it.
Grasping, delving, desiring, yearning.
...
Kneading. Else.

Hope and desperation war within me.
Trepidation and …

We had genuine moments, you and I.
Happy times, playful times.
We had our moments of indifference too.
You more than I. But I understood.
We also had some tangles:
My chair is my chair …

We all have our implements but his preferred utensil is the scalpel.
Perfection is both his nemesis and his pain, and sculpture is his release.

These are some of the things I have dreamed
while listening to the whispers that drift between the moments.

I just need to tap the walls.
And I’ll need my breathing space.
I’d huddle in the corner.
But I’d like to touch your face.

I am prepared to believe in the unbelievable, to make it reality. Come on!

Just suppose we tried to do it.
And I proposed we vied right to it.
And you reposed and cried right through it.

Just imagine we got that near.
And I ingrained my tongue with beer.
And yo…

She’d done some things to get ahead.
The lonely cry, the empty bed.
And she’d reasoned them harshly.
Better to be, than be dead.

I am the feast, the tiny feast and I’m your lusty little beast!

When you walk the beach alone
I am the one
who follows your footprints
in the sand
picking up grainy thoughts
for my collection.