Coordinates

I remember the first time I traced your spine that felt like velvet. Memorised the coordinates of your collarbones with my nervous lip. I remember the laughter, the sweat, that unfamiliar. The glow of your skin, lighting my way home. Your eyes lit up like sparlers in November twilight, and guided me in line with… Continue reading Coordinates

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This Beating Shape

One year encompassed by my heart strung across Paperchase postcards; a tangible copy of my soul, now sat waiting in your College pigeon-hole.   Legs intertwined amongst our make-shift bed of blankets and last night's sweat and lust. With you, lust isn't temporary, lust is sick to my stomach, a comforting nervousness. The way your… Continue reading This Beating Shape

She’s

Her eyes are a marble collection of rainbow hues, fabricating past mistrust and apprehension, into a revised perspective.   For she now carries her coat, her mac, her jacket; no longer a protective cape, but kick-ass costume. She’s colour, an orbit of Crayola; strides of smashed kaleidoscope; her glass half-full. Painting her former demons onto a… Continue reading She’s

les-be-honest

  ‘but she’s a girl’ my mother said after I paid for dinner & the valentines’ card was signed with swirly, delicate style not block capitals like my father’s   her body like mine, but different iridescent, a beacon in the morning sun dazzling her spine like a torch   I touch, but it’s wrong… Continue reading les-be-honest