Words by Oliver Cocks


Tonight, I need no eyes but yours:


what’s left of sunlight, I

will hand to you,

what remains of day.


Moist summer:


the nights throbbed

with cricketsong,


the grass bristled

beneath sunflame,


and all was alive

to the eventuality of decay.


I need your ears,

to pour into them my story


To whisper thunder

into your heart.


The balmy nights

did not yet swelter,


The birds still lived in the bush…


We met.

And again.

And again. And again.


I think of you,

from time to time

(…to time to time to time…).


Your voice    like summer

in the wastes of my brain,


radiant summer

awaiting autumn mists.


I still miss you-

always will.


Now, the summers writhe 

and the icecaps melt


Oliver Cocks

The author Oliver Cocks

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