The closest I get to saving your love letters in a perfumed box is favouriting your tweets and believing you see me when you write them.
Tweets
Always
‘Always’, she whispered to him, ‘always’.
The last word he wanted to hear, and the last word he did.
Splinters of you
When you left, you left splinters of you in my heart.
And you left your things.
The terracotta pot from our first days in the sun sits on the low table you brought to our home. It casts a long shadow in this pale evening light.
Your linen shirt hangs alone on the rail, spice splashes on the snowy cuffs.
I keep your keys in my pocket.
I know you did not want to go. I know.
I envy the place where you have gone.
Horizon
If we believe the candle can resist the storm, it may. It may.
I will hold my hands around the flame for you.
The pink light of night
The pink light of night loosened thoughts and tongues; blood pulsed and sped and fizzed and choked off words. But by then words did not matter.
Whispered secrets
Whispered secrets rise from flames,
tide down through clear rivers,
across the seas, round mountains,
they find a home that is safe. Here.
Sun kisses
Sun kisses.
Cool breeze soft whispers.
Sweet fruit salt memories.
Sun kisses.
Spark leads to spark
Spark leads to spark.
And one day the fire.
Shopping list
On the shopping list, you wrote “plum toms”.
I read, and bought, “plantains”.
How we laughed.
Until I bit into my sandwich.
Man go lassi
She licks an arm, a milk dark flavour. Thick velvet, stars explode. Now desire swirls mango lassi. Tongue sunburnt, dust thirst.
simonsalento 