It’s December 2016, and we pack these winter blossoms
into bento boxes, whispers of potential
to warm these bones, worn as a wish
but later wrapped as a promise.
You profess you cannot understand poetry
so brave the words in plain sight, born of longing
for a lighter spring, a bold leap towards belonging
to the flow of the seasons and folded limbs.
‘More fun’, you said, ‘more time’, list reasons to celebrate
our intertwining lives and smile at the story so far.
The story; so far.
Blotches of ink stained skin, tinted purple,
they deserve the warmth of my hands
attached to this cold heart.
Yours, thawed enough to form a scoop of promises
with chocolate chips still frozen enough to crunch if I was hungry,
still frozen enough to hold hope in hibernation.
with a crowd
of one hundred dancing strangers
from speakers announcing
the way the corners of your eyes
curl upward towards the sun
when you smile,
with the brush
of your hand against my waist
the rest of this place
could be nothing but particles.
Her eyes anxiously scanned the crowds
and fixed on you
with smile sounding
like sunshine on welcome skin
with added pinch of luck
for coming to know him
as their nerves shook hands
whilst lips curved
and eyes danced
barely looking down
her heart opened its doors
knowing it had already found
a new way to be free
in the way his heart met hers
wanting her to see
how love preaches its sermon
in the palm-sized
but still so powerful it can
smart your cheeks rosy
in unbroken joy
all the way home.
come once in a lifetime,
so let me occupy
all these born days of mine
in designing us a timeline
worth the time of our lives.
You take all my flaws,
gather all my self-hatred,
and with your love
you welcome them home.