/ˈhiːlɪŋ/
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noun
1.
the process of making or becoming sound or healthy again.
*
Healing as a process and not a one-time action,
As a continuum,
As a pathway that doesn’t exactly end.
Recovery as a repetition,
Leaning and re-learning.
Learning that healing doesn’t happen,
Overnight.
I am not going to wake up one morning and realise I’m better.
In fact I don’t believe I will ever be “better”.
But I might in retrospect,
Look back at myself and think,
“Hey I don’t worry about that little thing that I used to anymore”,
And repeat.
And to me, that is healing.

so I noticed that we both drink coffee.
just like anyone, we both like ours a certain way.
i like mine sweeter, with just the aftertaste of coffee there.
caramel, sugar, creamer.
i think about when i’ll have my next cup, and the idea of it alone makes me happy.
i don’t care what time of day i have it, i almost always have a cup.
i make time for my coffee.
it might be safe to say i think you like your coffee black.
you might add just the smallest touch to soften its bitter taste, but never too much.
sometimes i think you just pour it and carry on, as though it’s nothing important at all.
as though all it is, is just some quick fix.
like you just want to get it over with.
we drink it in two different ways.
i drink it slowly.
i note every flavor in every sip, i enjoy it.
i note the warmth it brings me.
i like it all hours of the day.
you drink it quickly.
quicker than me, at least.
you don’t care if it burns your tongue, or perhaps you’re used to the pain.
you accept it.
you never let it last, you move on to something else soon after.
i lay in your bed, watching your eyes as they skim the screen in front of you.
your mind is somewhere else.
i savor the moments you look my way, if even for a second, and smile at me.
i wonder if you even notice them.
i feel your laugh vibrate my bones, making the hair on my arms stand on end.
do i make you feel at all?
i reflect on it every time i drink my coffee.
i think about it with each and every sip, taking my time.
something tells me that you don’t do the same.
after all, it's just coffee.
but i put my all into this coffee.
i think you like your coffee black.

You pushed me from my home,
The moment you mentioned sanctity,
That I‘d be dirtying something,
If I touched it,
I’d be ruining it for everyone else,
If I took part,

But what is sanctity anyway?
Am I capable of being god’s child?
Must I strip back layers of my love first?
But can I love god,
If I cannot love myself?
Can I love myself,
If I am not myself?
I can’t help but love.
And I’d quite like to get married,
And maybe to have my first dance to Elvis,
And to throw the bouquet,
And to hear the words:
     “You may now kiss!”
Does that sound unclean to you?

I want to honeymoon, somewhere in Italy,
I want us to cook dinner for one another.
Is that impure?

I want to have and to hold in sickness and in health till death do us part.
Is that ******* *****?
Does it make you sick?

The moment this country said no,
You are not love,
You want,
To ****,
Love.
Even when other people were saying,
We understand you, you are good, you are clean,
You are love.

This stopped being my home,
You tore the ground from under me,
in the name of “sanctity”,
I’d love to stop being angry about it,
I would love to,
But my policy has not changed my policy has not changed my policy has not changed,
My policy will not change,
And that is all you and I will ever have in common.

My love,
You are the sun moon stars,
Familiar like trees behind my home that I’ve known since I was maybe 2 foot tall,
Giving like water in a river that spreads life throughout the forest,
In you I see nature’s greatest works,
In you I understand the belief in divinity,
I have devoted myself to you,
Devoted my body to you,
I understand what I saw in the holy book again,
Know what it’s like to feel wholly compelled towards one being,
What it’s like to feel wholly committed to one singular celestial body,
My line of orbit surrounding you,
I plant my heart in the soil of your body,
Entrust it’s growth to you my love’s convent,
I’ve been thinking about comets my love,
I’ve been thinking about planets colliding,
Connections that cannot be denied,
Birth of supernovas,
Birth of Aphrodite in the seashell womb,
How roses unfurl slowly as they grow into their delicate bodies,
How your love feels,
Delectable,
Rich,
Transcending any other pleasure,
My love is,
Larger than Jupiter,
Sweeter than honey,
Wider than the body between us,
I know it is fatuous, cliché, over-sweet,
But I only wish to be wrapped up
In your soft edges,
Like a bee,
Enriched by golden nectar,
From the most beautiful rose.

I don’t always like to write my words,
But I know I want to immortalise them,
I know I hope in 200 years young romantics search out old books still,
I hope one finds my words written,
Scrawled in my messy cursive and curled
up in leather-bound book,
With ink smudges from my eager hands,
And they read,
So they know in their future lives,
You are the one I loved,
Whoever you and I are,
And smile,
And we live on.

fingers intertwined, branches of a tree
you looked down to me, greedy eyes, pollen-grained
“draw me in” my mind wanders
thighs, or beehives, succulent and alive
fragmented sighs
a deathly sting, honey on my lips
breath on skin, wisps of hair like wings
dizzy desires
“draw me in”

i quietly hope after years of despair,
that one night the moon herself will bless me,
will she come down from the celestial eternity,
and take me in her cosmic arms,
will she love me the way i love her,
or will she vanish like the night's dream?