you're an arms length
away from me
only my arm
is lying across
a map of the world
not the folds
of my duvet
and I can't
just wrap the sea
around myself
and curl into you

I used to be so good
At dreaming
But now they just turn into
Memories of you
Now my dreams are shorter
Smaller
So much warmer
And I can't remember
How to imagine
Something so bittersweet

I stop existing
Every time you
Leave the room

Most days I miss you in English
On the worst I miss you in French,
You are missing from me
I am lacking in you
a vital part
as essential as air
as bones
as blood,
A lost immune system
that can't keep illness at bay,
an amputation,
a lobotomy.
There is no single word
that covers a lack of you,
I miss you out of language
But French is the closest,
tu me manques.

This morning, I woke up in Cornwall, with no idea how I got there.
I couldn't see the sea from the window, but I could hear the birds.
Strangers knew my name, my secrets, my songs.
And I found I knew theirs.
The streets were familiar, but they weren't the streets I grew up on.
I never grazed knees on those pavements,
Or idled home from school past those street signs.
It was a place removed from childhood,
With eyes I shouldn't know so intimately,
With no idea how they became so sure in my mind,
When they shouldn't even exist.

Don't ever get used to the person you love
Be amazed every day at their hand in yours
There are bones in that hand, strong yet fragile bones
And they're wrapped around yours, your bones
Strong yet fragile
And you've had those same bones for a very long time
So long that you've grown used to them
You've grown with them
Because for a very long time they were all you had
But now they grip onto another hand
Another set of bones
And ohmygod they'rereallythere
In your hand
And you don't know these bones as well as you ignore your own
So marvel at them everyday
For as long as it's taken you to know your own
Because that hand full of bones is just a fraction of what you love

There's an image I'm trying to make
Of shells
And the wind
And salt in my hair
Of something to do with your name
But more to do with the air
When your face looks away
And there's something about flames
And them not quite blowing out,
Because there's miles to go before sleep.