quivering like a tense arrow,
I think I see a kestrel up on
longaford tor.
it is not
innate, this private familiar.
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![[Un-]Collared Doves](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5c609d0f77b903f8f5ddeef6/1681400533876-XGA71EP64U9ST3F18PMZ/unsplash-image-qscY0de8YUY.jpg)
every time Mum sets the seed
under the magnolia tree, she will
count the collared doves that used
to visit: one time we had four, but…
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Yes, it was dark.
No, I will not give you poetry.
I wore my headphones in one ear,
tripping down grassy slopes,
and back up much-too-wide steps.
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Like tarmac, thin layer of carbon on my tongue,
Lick it off and feel my cheeks crumble like sand.
Shiny shower gel bottles and a shrivelled bar of green hand soap.
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A dark blot on a molten giant begins this tale,
A story of struggle, conflict, and uprise I shall unveil,
These incandescent giants have bodies and workings which are beautifully unique,
Comprehending them in full is a truth we ought all to seek.
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You,
Cleaved my ribs apart,
like a clam shell,
and let my organs,
spill into soft sea foam.
Starry freckles blaze upon her cheeks
And dance like the hearth’s straying sparks,
They pulse like dawn in winter weeks
Over the mist-dewed hymns of larks.
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Stood alone at the dance floor’s edge.
Exposed skin glinting wicked silver,
jewellery worn like protective armour,
bare feet firmly planted on checked tiles,
donning a defensive stance.
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The oranges in the bowl have moulded over,
fending off the cold from the cracked window.
Flies kiss them gently, as they age and carve out
weathered wrinkles forming on their backs.
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Entwined with each other
Lying in the silence of the night,
Your Vernier caliper
My coffee mug,
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