Morning Truths

When you wake
looking for me
one last time –

silently, how cold
I was, the night

no one came.
Dry your tears
in her soft hair –

where memories, of me,
will be carried away
by armies of lice.

It would be fitting,
to grind, what is left,
of me, to dust: spread it,

over your new hearth;
she won’t notice;
not underneath –

all that is new,
where the passions
of your home fires

burn, I will fade
in morning cinders,
and you can tell her:

‘I never had a life,
not before you’
it can be true.



A Desert Mirage

I let it happen
I ran to it; I stayed.

A desert mirage –
distorted those years.

concealing the tears of my heart
within the monsoon.

The locusts laughed
full of chat:

the years of fear:
it was the song of the sirens.

now: broken down and stuck,
in the hell of my own hallelujah

there is nothing in me, that moves,
but the desert calls all its babies:

with the softness of a mother’s touch
and a knowing forgiveness

of everything in between.


in the end:
it was everything you never said

that set your place at my table
every night

while I ate: alone,
watching re-runs of us

tired promises of happily ever after
lump in my oesophagus

but I never ate anyway,
not alone, not with you, not with anyone;

the roast burned, potatoes boiled over,
while I sat, motionless

in the deafening echo
of your silence

I remember those final moments
and why I stay:

forever alone.

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The house:
now covered in cracks, mocks with each creak
the downfall of the happily ever after
covered by weeds, infested with parasites
the corners leak staining the walls
that were once so smooth
now poorly spackled to cover the holes
beds broken inwards with shreds of material
masquerading as sheets

Once upon a time:
the house was the dream, happiness filled the empty space
the garden manicured, windows sparkling, cills polished
oh, it was truly something to be proud of
and my love was enough to maintain all that was perfect
as the years went on and the house absorbed the secrets
the dreams evaporated and all keeping up perfection
became the sword that destroyed my heart
and cursed the house of the happily ever after.



‘Men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love’ (Shakespeare)

Indeed, there have been lovers, but none so closed as you…
How tight your lips are when I express myself in your mouth…
Grimacing at the memory of every woman you never loved…
Those blasted shackles of all that happened – before me – before you –
Incapable of anything more than a painful touch;
that penetrates all we will never be…


I see it in your eyes, he said,
suspiciously, I glanced –
perhaps a piece of my soul slipped out?

In my head, under the Eiffel tower
Parisian lights polluted the Seine river
reflecting the lovers here before;

blinding our histories – fresh air accosted
every sense, the limited space between our bodies
grew hope, love fragrant in the night air.

-L.J. Lenehan

Another Dime Store Prince

Another dime store prince
living in a nineteenth century
ice box.

Empty aluminium clamours in the night.
He’d already packed my things
but wanted my truths.

Frozen by fear, my truths are muted,
frost bitten, one more hurt
under the avalanche of snow.

The reflection of the city night, questions:
why now?
But in a world full of nows

there are no answers
and my dime store prince, so gentle,
so adamant to protect his solitary fortress –

he fears spending what he has not got
I wish this might have ended
different to the rest.

-L.J. Lenehan1220597235-m