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Poetry

How butterflies are born.

Its the unconscious smiles Automatic weakness. Its the vacant space between your fingers, Filled by those gentle interlocking fingers of hers Its those kisses that make you forget who you are, Those touches that carve her initials into you, Making…

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Poetry

Letters To Our Virgin Mums

Dear Spinster, I have been schooled on how you feel The tokophobia you conceal Not even Mary Kay, Elf, Maybelline or L.A girl Pro could seal the deal. The supposition of your prospective spouse is no fear compared to the…

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Short Story

Vapours

Happiness was not something Esther was used to. She had never felt its popular comforting arms around her. She saw life as hard and grey as stone. Every day was always unkind to her. Each day leaving her with nothing…

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Short Story

The Yard

There was yard and in the middle of the yard was a man, and around the man was a crowd and the crowd sat under the shimmering of cool moonlight, and they listened and they were happy. His stories were…

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Poetry

The Making of Beauty

Her grip got tighter and tighter. Her screams louder and louder. It seemed the rhythm of our heart beats were in sync. It seemed I could feel what she was feeling like a cardiac morse code. She started on her…

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