Dogwood shimmers in the late winter light.
Yellow red and in between.
Jenny likes the nearby willow.
The white buds draws her mind
to the later treat
a walk to the snowdrop trail
where upon Peter will renew his vow
one day set up home at Stevenage
so close to Benington Lodge
her favourite  indulge

Russian black grass and an ornate pattere  garden,
pheasants basking in uncertainty
culpable designs eyeing towards.
Yellow book inclusion,
asks more than the obelisks shadows casting down the acers,
the mia crocus still a red mist
before laying the asphalt driveway.

I’ve made a *** of coffee
And filled a cup for everyone.
I pour the last drops for you
But my cup remains dry.

You tell me, you prefer tea.

I’ve made a cup of tea
And place the sugar bowl beside it.
You tell me, you prefer honey
But you’ll drink it anyway.

Since then,

I’ve kept tea in the cupboard
And honey by the sugar

Just in case you’d come around.

And I can’t remember if I, myself,
Preferred coffee or tea.

I feel the rumbling beneath my feet
My eyes are scanning the windows
I take one last drag of my cigarette
Before finding a vacant seat

My heart starts pounding
It feels like I’m gasping for air
Through the blurred noise, I hear my stop is next
I glance up at the people around me

I wonder if they think I’m crazy

My head is spinning
The walls are closing in on me
It feels like I’m crawling to the exit
I glance up at the people around me

I wonder what they see in my eyes

There’s a bright light and a breath of fresh air
It feels like the gates of heaven have opened up

it’s 5:52 and my first thought is obviously of you
my eyes are wide and i go online to see if there’s any possibility of conversing
the first thing my eyes see are two sentences that my heart cannot withstand
the realisation that you’re moving on and i’m still stuck in heartbreak land
why is it that the good ones always hurt you the most but move on the quickest?
it’s 5:55 and at this point my mind is racing
flashbacks to a time that seemed to be golden
the first instinct to draw a crimson red because you still provoke a sickening anxiety oh how my head is in agony
but i suppress, knowing that i shouldn’t have to ask myself if that’s my blood.
and you answer, and somehow i forget what i 5:52 brought me