All texts and images by Gaelle Konak (unless stated)




Thursday 23 February 2012



Late afternoon.
The taste of sweat on your lips.
The smell of the sun on your skin.
But the roughness of your hand on my heart.
My martyr's temptation.
I can't move.
I can't fight.


Buds

On the still blind face of the world today
The scents were back
Filling the emptiness of everything around
With the vague recollections
Of earth and sun and leaf
Of lark and toad and bee
Moss and heather
The reason why I'm here
Suddenly remembered
The point of it all
To feel this
Again.