If I had told you
that I was made of mud and soil
and grass and sea water
combined over two decades
you wouldn't have understood.

If I'd said my bones were branches
my hands blooming nasturtiums
my toes pebbles on a beach
on the east coast of England
you would have rolled your eyes.

If I'd said your skin after a shower
smelled like warm ground after rain
and your voice was honeycomb
your kisses strawberry jam
you'd have found it strange.

I've known you seventeen years
yet we don't know each other at all.
If I'd told you everything I believed
you'd have thought me childish.
You never did like poetry.