Well, hello.

[Leanne]

Your laptop's a wanker.  Let's look at your poems.

Weather Poem

The sweat on my lip
brings this barometric memory -- is "this" a better choice than just "a"?
of heat and flesh
to the forefront. -- "fore" could work just as well

Two fronts,
a Summer monsoon
where pale lightning plays
through reefs of golden cloud
circling an alabaster cliff
humming like live wires  -- is the monsoon humming, or the cliff?  Be careful of grammatical ambiguity
with soft and hard design
with rain and sea spray.

The curve of your back
is a horizon.
The lines carved on your chest
are highways and slipstreams
above which gulls wing and wheel
below which mysteries are concealed. -- lovely images in this stanza

And I sigh like thunder -- I'm not convinced that "and" is helping, especially since it turns up later in the stanza, where it does work
to the softness of your storm
and I sigh like thunder,
to your silver screen embrace
I sigh like thunder.
I sigh like thunder. -- the repetition to close is very effective here, because when I read the last line it's an echo of the previous, just like thunder.  Nicely done.



Spleen
Empty glasses sit like soldiers at attention.
8 wide, 10 thick;
ranks for drunks.

The business of boredom
beats the barmaids and patrons
into service, -- you could try a colon here, and just "subservience" (no "or") on the next line
or subservience.

We are watched over -- "over" probably isn't needed
by flickering eyes -- to emphasise the shorter lines of "stop/ staring", you could try moving "which could" up onto this line -- remember that readers privilege first and last words in a line, and one line with two relatively pointless words is a bit of a waste
which could
stop
staring
at any moment.

Loneliness is a half-pint.

I'm glad my glass is full.

I'm glad the barmaid wears checks on her stockings.

I'm glad the barmaid reads.

I'm glad the economy is fucked,
so economists have something to make them feel interesting. -- amen

I'm glad the lesbians found feminism;
instead of Jesus.

I'm glad for the sad eyed, gray haired drunks
that live off Marlboro Red's and dream-fumes.

I'm glad the roof is stained with memories:
postcards
sketches
photographs
an old box of pills.

And I love you because you're a cocksucker.  -- sweet of you to notice