poetry to learn to love again.
"and i would hide my face in you and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us any more." -- kafka.
(2019).
gifted to pandora are we too: curiously insatiable eyes and a bleating box.
you gave me a finger of clotted cream; it had that careful crust fleetingly licked up. i said, 'my tastes are particular: rose petal jam, please.' (and you loved me for that) -- and age and sunlight had faded it to peach though my granny never once opened it and andy the artist found it some time after she died when they cleared out the cupboards: nebulous, i ate it by the window -- found her face knowing in a picture frame.
i keep hoping that we could go back to that though i tell myself love is not quite like that, anymore where time wounds me graciously under a continental blue sky -- and there are bushes with yellow flowers like stars that smell of honey and the heat and that look over your shoulder when you flew away home.
(11th may 2019)
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