You've already left.
537 miles North of me, of us.
I'll ruffle up to join you in four (agonising) weeks
but to my unconcerned shame,
I'm too sad to sleep in that bed without you, too ungoverned.
Nostalgia, even the warm kind, is too much feeling for me.
Something about it has always made my lipids curdle
and an unpleasant tickle cloud in my brain.
The street ou...
Tuesday 30th March 2021 9:40 am
Just the right amount of squeeze
at my hip
of a lemon
on the pasta we craft for each other
of the sponge he knows I don’t like to touch when wet.
A tongue, a croissant, a bottom smack,
exactly when we wanted one
A well-timed tease, balletically treading that tightrope line
from this now, to the next, to the next to the next please
Moments studded above our ...
Saturday 9th January 2021 3:36 pm