There’s a lot of love in this poem but some people can’t see it. Or rather, feel it.

Finally getting back to writing-and this blog-after being sidetracked for months. And today all I could manage was a bit of editing. Feeling uninspired and it’s sad when poems from six months ago are no longer relevant. Oh well, I will persist. I always find salvation in action.

As a side note, T Rex and David Bowie saved my sanity in high school.


We engage in a dance
called Together Then Apart.

Intervals between vary according
to the latest news or mutations.

With enough lovers to fill a ballroom
we’ve moved past the Tango,

past clinging, demands, urgency,
and sexual intrigue be damned.

My time alone runs concurrently
with the time I have left,

prizes both,
however long they may last.

I’m ready at last
to honour my body,

its ability to function,
to serve, to move.

I marvel at the ease
with which he inhabits his,

watch it long and lithe
break free of the stove

to pretend with the Pretenders,
neon fuchsia boa flowing

over sinewy chest,
pink feather clamped

between teeth ala Flamenco,
muscle-grooved arms,

a flurry of fists, raven hair,
flying solo in the moment.

2 thoughts on “PINK BOAS & FLYING SOLO

Leave a Reply to Nicholas Ford Cancel reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *