• Vol. 04
  • Chapter 01
Image by


they say love is like pitter-patter rainbow rain
falling through the cob-webbed holes
of y(our) heart.
tell me then,
you who always look for filling,
wearing old blood beneath
your see-through shirt, gloved fingers
fumbling in the painted dark-
how quick does yesterday's sun
leach itself of colour?

you say you loved me the most,
i was grey & ancient, my body
a winding wrought-iron stair
to childhood ephemera.
you say i was the truest rain of them all

but your heart is a dusty room,
claustrophobic with ghosts-
do old gloves remember
the warmth of far-away finger-suns?