Poetry Prompt: 'Forever is composed of nows'
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 heads, plotting a constellation
I think of a cow, 5 legs and no nose,
the one my sister drew at 4 or 3 years old
pride of place in the living room.
They rarely land where we aimed or planned, these small, spangling points in time,
but each a scruffy, gorgeous dog star
lengthening a Fresian eyelash.
Sometimes they are bigger, like the blue weekend we snuck between the quarantines.
Slipped the one bed dungeon flat we'd roiled and rollicked in for months
two fitful baby bears filling the carpets with fur and sweat
and never speaking to our neighbours.
He drove me into the Dorset darkness,
and after a stiff journey and drink,
an astonishment of stars
and a different plane of quiet
not quiet, but total, carbonised focus
our testiness affronted by the taut purple muscle of the milky way
dunked in indigo and anaesthetised across the sky.
We are duly disciplined and a new coordinate is marked.
Andromeda, the bawdy duchess of our interstellar tapestry,
affixed to the thrust of the globular gravities between us.
The most distant body that ever seduced the bare, human eye (one of us had heard),
pinned to the tip of a jaunty heffer’s hoof.
You see? You raise and reduce me
to the level of the sea and the starlight
which I never thought I would spend so much time writing about.
But now, Vaccula Aeternam Minor beams down over the Jurassic Coast.