There are no curtains
At our windows-
Our room opens into the sky street
Of black -
An asphalt continuum
Broken with a glaring street light
That fizzles like a cloud
Into the edges of the sky

One day soon,
We will clothe our windows
And envelope our home in a
Blanket of cosiness
But for now, I enjoy
The nakedness, the vulnerability
Of an open chasm, as though
We are still camping, perhaps,
Under the rockies or in the atachama
Like we used to, can I say when we
Were young?
When inside, I still feel so young as the night
falls,
Or does everybody?

There’s a pigeon in our chimney
His cooes are like an unreliable
Cuckoo clock-
Your face lights up when he calls,
In recognition - something you can place
In this brand new world
You are still discovering
His voice echoes down the chimney
And lands in our dining room
Whilst you are eating tomatoes
The vibrations are playing tricks on us, as
Though he might just be a metre away
BIRD
you call, and I nod, yes, a pigeon
Which sounds like it might be
A contradiction
So I smile to reassure you
Every time I see your delight
In the everyday
It’s as though I am remembering
Or perhaps discovering?
Just a little each time
What it means to be alive

when you call out for me again
and another hot plate of food turns cold
with  each second that I hold you to sleep -
I remember
that I am teaching you what if feels like
to be loved without consequence
and never to accept less from anyone

when you say ‘mama’ and hold out your arms
I remember
I am creating a home in your heart for a hug
that reaches to your soul and warms you from the inside

when you tug at my ankles when I’m making tea
I sigh - but then I remember
that one day you won’t be glued to my hip
and you’ll sit moodily through a meal
desperate to return to your room

when you’re having one of those days
where you need all of me - and it feels like there is nothing left
I remind myself
these are the moments you might not remember
but that will stay etched like a blueprint
and become a part of who you are becoming

So I will read you another story
and I remember
that together, we are writing yours.

You are reeling in
an unformed cord
gently tugging yourself into existence
through my longing

Like a grain of sand
in a soil bed
we cannot know
if you'll see a day of light

if you'll bloom
into a million thousand cells
like petals opening up
to a star filled sky

like a universe
which may or may not exist
in light years of time,
will it be, or matter?

He turned us into palm trees, dusty toes
pressed into my inner thigh.
A cold wind of collective breath,
breathing in, breathing out,
pulls me sideways and under
yellow man remains inert, straight-faced.

Then we fold, the room breathes in,
breathes out, my calves whimper.
Toes and fingers pull like magnets
my rope in place of his elastic,
unravels.

Now we are dogs, my paws crawl
to the front of the mat. I think I am
a Labrador, downwards facing,
upwards facing, breathing out
breathing in the stale studio air
I want a walk, or a biscuit
my spine extends, somewhere in my head
I growl.

Yellow man wants us all to be cobras
our spines dissolve, we twist carefully
slide a wave across the desert floor
and swallow him whole.

You had sand in your hair,
freckles under your eyes
where the sun kissed your face
as I would have liked
I watched your hands as you drove
watched them turn the wheel
not knowing how in seven years
those hands would make me feel.
That they'd be bound by gold
and a solemn vow
to love, to hold, through any how
and that, by then,
our plans would be
entwined together, endlessly.
That we'd have seen the sun
from each hemisphere
balanced on the equator
lived out of a backpack for a year -
that you'd become my home
with your arms as the doors
your eyes as the windows
your feet as the floors.
That we'd bloom together
throughout those years
explore with each-other
our deepest fears.
That one day we'd stand
with our dearest of friends
and make a promise to
make-do and mend -
to patch up our souls
even when we find winter
might creep in and freeze up
and love might seem splintered,
that we'll wait for the spring
and that when the frost thaws
our stream will flow free again
fresher than before.
For now your heart lives within me
I'm keeping it safe
I'll cover it with feathers
of love and of grace.
Those hands that once turned
the wheel of that car
will now hold me through life
on this road that is ours.

you didn't know
the moon leaned drunk in another hemisphere
or that the street-steeped colours would dye your soul

that you'd forget how bread melts
instead of noodles that slide down your throat
after three months
of breakfast.

that beaches would cling
and that children playing football in the dust
would be painted yellow in the echo of a memory

how the crumble of a chocolate cookie
is what you remember about that mirrored sunrise
and pips from a lemon speak  
as you let a crashing waterfall envelope your pale limbs.

didn’t you know you are brave enough
to ride the back of a motorcycle
on seven hundred and sixty two turns
to a jungled hot spring and a wailing band

but on the tip of a domed decision
you’ll crumble into the altitude
with four songs spiralling in your mind.

you didn't know it would finish
and rain speckles of memories onto your tired head
so you’d ache for no mattress
where you once hoped for a shower.