my love

i knew where everything was in your kitchen, there was intimacy in that, i think placing myself amongst the clutter being one of your many things i'd browse your mugs  and write my name on your fridge in tiny magnetic letters so you'd always remember where i'd been i adored it, honestly everything in that red triangle house belonged to you at least partly,  including me shoes scattered across the hallway big black boots, loose laces, and my h&m flats this house was lived in, nobody could deny that it was cosy, vibrant and homely lovers scattered across the floor friends sat everywhere, blocking the door some of my favourite memories were in rooms full of people i'd never previously met, and i'll confess it was strange sometimes trying to put names to faces or words in mouths but your face would always stick out smiling in the crowd like sunshine amongst clouds, kissing you was like kissing the sun it was hot and hesitant more golden than gold you'd take me u...

to be consumed by romance to be drowning in proof you'll find my body at the feet of Aphrodite  beaten and bruised by the pursuit of expectation gorging on pomegranates blood red i'll turn into poetry eventually that way you'll remember me as something a little bit more than a woman with a notes app and untreated neurosis  i refuse to die of a broken heart as if a Romantic like Keats  though twenty-five is generous the stars will see more of me yet

i’m waiting for warm oranges crisp mornings and deep skies leaves crunching beneath my feet pink cheeks and noses upon everyone i meet autumn speaks softly kissing gently touching warmly and holding tightly, my favourite lover snapping twigs with swift fragility beneath my boots, reassuringly everything is dying most beautifully  beneath an orange backdrop quietly 

eight pm the district line i'm watching all the trees go by as the sun sets on my cheeks sneaking into my eyes everything is warm and lovely i can taste wine on my lips and feel it in my heart it was only a glass or two enjoyed over food with friends  now everything is rosy sitting here quietly  on this empty tube it finally feels like summer after an uncomfortably eternal june and as i close my eyes slowly i wonder, if everything will be back to normal soon

know you could put your head in my lap at your most vulnerable moment and we could sit in comfortable silence as my hands graze your hair  and stroke your face tenderly and without judgement until you feel safe and at ease in this quiet expression of trust and acceptance my fingers tracing your skin bringing enough warmth and human contact soft yet raw your emotions never have to leave  the comfort of my thighs as they welcome and take in all the harshness of the world until your soul is soothed and you need them no more

i don't usually write anything before my poems, but i thought this deserved a comment. this was intended to be a prose piece but i'm usually incapable of coherent thoughts and decided to just keep writing until i'd said everything i wanted to say. i'm finding lockdown is hard and i just wanted to talk about it. so here's some poetic prose spring is fleeting yet eternal. we are constantly waiting for its arrival. it arrives loudly and leaves quietly. cherry blossoms are encapsulating and overbearing and gone within days but for two weeks the earth is decorated with dancing pink silhouettes stretching across the sky. the relief from winter and the prerequisite for summer, spring works hard to bring the earth back to life. i think spring started not long ago yet i have hardly seen it from the smallness of my window. an appreciation for my garden has inexplicably grown as high and strong as the flowers climbing the bricks of my home, without it i might have never ha...