york, 7th november

youthful sky

 

a toddler has thrown a bucket of gold up the walls of the minster

and you have been caught in the flood

we sit in front of the sun

and are still; i don’t know when next i will be clean like this

 

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heavy water

at night there comes a wave

which i sit under.

more and more now,

the water seeps into my daytime thoughts

the safety of sunlight is not to be trusted.

instead i seek your wings

and i listen for your call

but you, who have comforted me before

seem to be soaring above

whilst i hang in a tarry sea

yet even as i am there, i know that my lungs will not split

for you are in the nighttime and the day

you are in the waves and the clouds and you are

the breath in me

salt

i bought salt

so i would taste of the sea.

every time i lick my lips

i will remember the ripple of your kiss.

 

salt

in the food i make for you

in the tears i cry for you

from the tumbling sea to my hair

in the kisses i give you.

 

i bought

honey and salt, to kiss you with.

from the heather and the tide, the moors and the waves

from my lips to yours.