We didn’t just break;
We shattered.
Smashed irreparably into fragments.
I cannot conceive that time will grind
The shards of us to sand.
Tag: love
Zombies
Two cats
Two cats play piano;
Soft paws on ivory keys
Stumbling into unintentional melodies.
Whiskers tickle thick chords
As hammers hit hard harmonies.
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Thanks,
Saba
09/07/20
Subdued, I resolve:
I must savour you in morsels.
Failing,
I attempt to stem thin red tears
With the gentle graze
Of my serrated edge.
08/07/20
I know I must have been happy then.
And if I concentrate hard enough, I can almost feel it
Between scrunched eyes and clenched teeth.
06/07/20
Cultivating contentment
In our imitation of intimacy,
I wonder whether
I could ever
Be satisfied
By constant cups of tea
And pecks on the cheek.
04/07/20
We are zombies.
Not from the bite but from our lips
As kisses decayed into frigid pecks.
Cold and corpse-like,
We’ve been dying ever since.
01/07/20
Your supple skin peels
Away from perspiring leather.
You leave
But your perfect silhouette remains
Impressed in memory foam.
I sit still in your absence.
01/06/20
Domestic bliss marked by the metronome of a dripping tap;
Love letters etched in the limescale of our kitchen sink.
Mess mounts all around us.
The problem is sandwiches
My problem has always been sandwiches.
Eight-years-old, explaining to my mum that love is in sandwiches;
That you really know someone loves you if they cut your sandwich into quarters.
Not halves.
Love was the effort in that extra cut.
Eight-years-old, already accustomed to quantifying love
In sandwiches.
Loved more or less each day
By butter spread to edges and cheese thinly sliced.
My mother did not know to show love in this way
Until I told her.
Eight-years-old, I gifted her the guilt of sandwiches.
Knowing now the importance I’d ascribed to this arbitrary detail,
Her thoughts filled with years of sandwiches.
Each sandwich that followed cut precisely into squares.
Growing older, I became embarrassed
Of her delicately quartered sandwiches;
Forgot that extra cut was love.
Too self-conscious, I shouted at her to stop. The other kids had halves.
Now, an adult, I make my own lunch.
Sometimes sandwiches on simple days.
Now an adult,
I still make the same mistakes.
[06/05/20]
