You were like the sun’s warmth after days of clouds and rain, like hot chocolate and warm socks on a freezing day, like a cold glass of water in the middle of the night, like soft rain noises just before bed, like varying textures of green in the wild, like

  I am writing poetry in a Burger King. Who is she? Edgy indie girl who struggles with spitting out her toothpaste Just kidding (maybe).  Cute boy in Burger King, he has face tattoos. I like tattoos.  Eye contact is made. Nice face.  What do I look like to others?

  E hine, e hine, kia tau te mauri e Kia rere, kia pūheke tō awa atua e   He ao hou, tomokia, karangahia e Kua wāhine te kōtiro i te kōkōwai o Hineahuone   Whakamana te īkura, kia whakahoki te mana ki a kore Wāiho te paru ki te

  Mai i te Kore ki te Pō ki te whai-ao ki te ao Marama tihei mauri ora   I whakawhiti i te Moana nui a Kiwa  mai i Hawaiki   We settled amongst ngahere  and awa  maunga and moana ka ora te whenua ka ora te tangata   We

[Previously published in Landfall 227)   Haere mai, Aroha.  Is that your true name?  It ripples like spirits over my tongue and onto    my shores:  where I will gift you one hundred kina  every day, even though the limit is fifty,  where I will scrub your soles with pumice 

Heke nuku mai Heke rangi mai Huihuia mai  Te reo Māori Ki te mata o taku arero Hei reo kawe ki te anamata   Heke nuku mai Heke rangi mai Huihuia mai  Te reo Māori Ki te kāuru o te hirikapo Hei reo kawe i ngā tikanga   Heke nuku

As unfortunate as it is, flatting isn’t for everyone. A harsh truth some may delight in. Consequent to this truth, this leaves many to dream of a life outside of flatting. A life, I dare say, of one living alone.   This isn’t a radical idea for both introverts or

Dark sexy beans float we both do In this sensual dance of morning routine and acceptable addiction Give me an intervention so we can talk about it over coffee   ‘Na I can actually taste the difference. Like GSK just has this undeniable smoothness that I think you’re maybe missing?

By Michael Moore If it weren’t for the starsthe night sky might finally be brave enough to snuff out the moon and lay down with the earthwe would plunge into an embrace of darknesslight would wither like hope in a prison of warfade like a ridiculed ideadilute like yellow paint

I sat for 10 daysAs I sat for 10 thousand yearsI watched as the hairs on my headTurned grey and in then brown againI watched as the oceans roseSwallowed islands wholeBit at the low hanging fruit of the continentsBefore the ice caps frozeAnd the seas dropped until I could walkFrom