Birds cry and sing in the still-dark,
commit to living one more winter’s day.
In sleeping rooms their heartache finds me
building nests for injured things.
  
I will lock the door when I leave-
and carry their heartache with my own.
I will pilfer light from a low-rolling Sun and
siphon-off peace from the sea.

(I will love, I will love, I will love)

We angled ourselves to face Lyra-
I turned repeatedly to him.
Hid in a blanket-cocoon we
beat a rhythm of fingertip-dreams.

We angled ourselves to face Lyra-
I turned repeatedly to him.
He rained prayers and promises;
a sky-full of stars fell down unseen.

We angled ourselves to face Lyra-
I turned one last time to him.
Pinned dead-butterfly colours
to his mouth, his tongue, his skin.

They discussed Prom and silly boys who talked big, but
couldn’t tear open a ******.

They squabbled over pole-position in a race that didn’t matter- And
analysed events made cinematic in re-telling.

I leafed through a magazine:

One Girl’s Plan to Meet and MARRY A MILLIONAIRE (who isn’t a creep)
~How to dress to be taken seriously
Top Career Women Tell Their Secrets
~Hot spring fashion
The TRAP of Living Together
~CK One (selling equality)

For a moment I pictured myself applying lipstick, then thought better not.

It was all *******.

I shoved the magazine back in my bag- with Tess, exam texts, and
a clean change of clothes.

The bus stopped right outside.

He made me tea, and I read bedtime stories to his kids.

After:

We drank white-wine in the garden, kissed and found peace-
Searched for stars in a sky the colour of storms.

is it possible we touched?

that you spilled into me
thoughts like cigarette smoke?

silver threaded, exhaled in a rush

is it possible we spoke?

turned to whispers
the dark corners of our minds?

twined my words with your songs

is it possible we loved?

will again, you and I- immortal?

fingers unfurl a thought into words
slide sensation between dream
and nostalgia