Planting Poems To Let The Light In

Planting Poems To Let The Light In

It’s a choice I will make a thousand times

every day afresh, the pull and push,

can I turn to the care

to the love that is staring back?

You are free to leave

find another pulse to crave your heartbeat

but I did not brave World War Three

for an amputation, aborting possibilities

from the spirit glowing inside of me.

Let me treat you to a lifetime

of the softest words, sprinkled over skin,

I will patiently saturate each layer,

wait here till every drop soaks in.

Keepsake Scents

Keepsake Scents

The first time was all nerves and aftershave,

baking belief in an August oven

and you were the sweetest berries I found at the greengrocers,

handpicked from local fields in high summer,

grown amongst the aromatic lavender I adore

that once inhaled is addictive,

an attraction that can’t be ignored

and when absent becomes a lingering memory

of jasmine incense in the air.

Familiar, as passing cigarette smoke is to my lungs

and Charlie Red is to sentimental school days,

sunk into my breath with a king size bed

and too many pillows, your bare skin my insomnia,

your chest a soft redolence,

the taste of milky coffee

mixed with goosebumps from a frosty morning,

a book read with joy

beside the smoky sounds of a crackling fireplace.

How could anyone else have you when these metaphors are mine?

Sometimes our fragile eyes sting

with the fragrant force of being alive

but I need this interlacing perfume, your infusion on my mind,

like how the ground soaks in the rain after a thunderstorm

until the sense of home looks just the same.

You Say I Am Still Beautiful, But I’d Rather You Told Me I Was Brave

You Say I Am Still Beautiful, But I’d Rather You Told Me I Was Brave

Sometimes the only pain I can carry is the one that burns, that draws blood, because beating myself up is the only bearable unbearable way I know to bruise. Shallow breaths don’t support screaming, starving turns dark thoughts lightweight and lightheaded means less space to care. Wait till you see my bones and how the hurt just falls off me when it has nothing to hang on to, wait till you hear my heart rupture and rush red through my ribcage like it was running for its life. Then watch how love pours out my arteries and leaves when it believes I’m better off empty. You touch this frozen, unfeeling skin but all this shrinking means I shall slip through your fingers. Taste me on the breeze, somewhere not here.

Portion Sizes

Portion Sizes

Are we not

all simply people in pieces

giving out tiny pieces of ourselves

to others, who try to piece together

what was purposefully removed from the whole piece

they hoped to receive

whilst still breaking off just one piece of their own

as I try to regrow a replacement piece

for the piece the last person refused to return

because we all think we deserve

to keep a piece of a person

as justice for how another person

split us into further pieces

the last time we tried to piece together the puzzle

and will we not

all simply remain in perpetual wars

till we relinquish our lost and stolen pieces

and reach for the peace that’s really missing.

Amaranthine

Amaranthine

Half asleep, your lips dance from the palm of my hand to the tips of my fingers, then tucked under your cheek. You breathe deeply, soaking contentment into the pillow with three words on the outbreath and air I can feel.

I will stay here, sixty minutes spent in stillness but tuned in to every twitch.

I could stay here, write an essay from the ink on your skin.

Can I stay here, somewhere I can keep this?

Love Made Easy

Love Made Easy

You can take my time, tie it to the bed. Spread apart the seconds and divide the minutes into drawn out mouths and slow talk.

You can have me because here I am free. I can flower or I can plant myself in dirt but you always leave out a teaspoon of sugar water. Like a glass of milk and a mince pie for Father Christmas and never forgetting the carrot for Rudolph. You always believe in me.

You brought me pancakes in bed and it meant something.

I read you like a slow digestion, savoured and not greedy, burning off the excess punctuation.

(I don’t care about bad spellings, just give me the words.)

Your devotion on my black tar days; the non-linear nature of all things when done right.

What we expect is only adventure.