Gemma’s warmth as
she links my arm and
the world stops screaming…
You are an island dark with life;
A swan-hatched dream, taking flight;
A blue-shot cormorant, nestled in night.
Gemma’s warmth when she talks about
the sort of house she wants, her bottom
drawer, and the colour of christmas decorations.
The warmth of a smile
when I look at her crotch:
earth / urge / air / care.
O’ for another storm stressed day,
when the sky spoke and
our world yielded… to rain.
‘I could have run much faster.’
‘You should have been here over Christmas.’
Of all the things
I’ll never get chance to do…