Picnic lunch

Plastic flower-shaped plates balanced on our knobbly knees. His was orange, mine was pink. Blades of grass tickled us between our toes, socks and shoes abandoned at the bottom of the garden.

Tightly pulled

No matter how tight she pulled the curtains, first light still seeped through. Dust danced in the streams like the shapes behind her eyelids. Pink, yellow, orange.

The ones I keep

He smells like rotten seaweed,
tangled on the beach,
we always skim grey stones,
throwing twenty each.

Fireworks

Fireworks in the skies and in my eyes
Slicing through the black
Stars beyond the moon
Nothing written

His arms warming the skin I chilled

I watched
as they sat on the beach,
his fingers untangling
the hair I knotted.

Higher daddy higher

When I was a baby
you’d stroke my head,
flatten my curls
until I slept.

Heroes

Hair tousled from our pillows,
dressing gown ties around our waists,
sleep in our eyes.

Steaming up the jar

Legs flying out behind me,
soaring down the aisle.
Tea coffee jam honey biscuits cake.
Bottles clink in the trolley.

Perfectly matched pairs

It’s been one year and seventeen days since we met.
My bus had been late,
salad dressing had exploded in my bag.
You walked past and chuckled,
making a comment about faulty tupperware.
I knew you were the one.

Adults never lie

The moon is made of cheese
And pinky promises are binding.
Santa fits through our keyhole
And ‘we don’t know where you’re hiding.’