It has been too long since I have turned my hand to poetry. I’ve been concentrating on long form works, moving to the Caribbean and lamenting that I have not found the audience that I had hoped in my novels.

No one ever said that writing allowed for an audience of any kind.

So, I turn back to my first love – bitter, angry and harsh. A cruel fingered mistress who waited patiently all this time. Nails sharpened ever still. As if knowing I would have no choice but to slink home to her.

How I’ve missed her bitter, biting mouth. 🖤

Start writing…