I often think about
The nettle stings on your legs
when I pushed you from my lips.
I didn’t want anyone to see us
Locked together, in love.
Even then I was afraid of what bound us
and even now
I’m still thinking about then
and your prickled calves
hands shaking but my mouth laughing
and all of my body was wrecked.
Tense and stretched from my stomach
that pull, the tether that connected us.
But now I don’t feel you
You can go home again,
to the place that houses your youth.
But don’t forget
the memories you made.
Continue reading The pores of four walls
The ticking hands of time and
Many miles more than before is what lies between us now.
But still, I find myself in this place
That’s so similar to what I once called ours.
So I sit on a bench in the same way I did before
And let my hand creep into the empty space that was yours.
The earth smells different to how I remember it but what I remember most is you.
Your hand chained to mine, like I was your anchor.
I had to stay on the ground while your eyes drifted away to the solitude in your mind.
I always felt like they should shine brighter, your eyes
But they were suffocated under the shadow of your sadness.
I found comfort in the smell of the tree-tinged air
The feel of the earth in my palm waiting for me to create something with it.
It wasn’t me who kept everything down
And I was never meant to be an anchor.