I want to fall in love again

It always seems so
Easy at first.
Just tip forward into heartache
Like falling off a chair
Or the bike you thought you
knew how to ride.
A distinct lack of training wheels on this occasion.

If you feed me orange porcelain rose petals
I will close my eyes and listen to
the rain on the window pain.
I will remove cat hairs from the
Peripheries of my mind
And the corners of your downturned smile.
I might read poetry in hushed tones,
Your head in my lap.
If you agree
To hold my hand in the dark
I will try my best to
Never doubt you
And to keep all your brightly coloured matchsticks
In order.
To never lose your
Loveless green eyes.

Oh how I hope you care.

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I’m carving a draydel out of cedar for you. All is right with the world.

Sometimes
I would like to live with you
In a wood cabin on a lake.
Lying awake at night
By an open fire
With your hand on my cheek,
In my hair,
On the back of my neck.

A Star of David
Hangs in the window.
A pine wreath on the front door.

The pop and crackle.
Your breath in my ear.
The wind at the chimney.

It wouldn’t be so bad.

I should be changing the sheets

The pillow
Where I have lain my head to rest
Is steeped deeply with you.
Your delicate scent but also
The slow curve of your cheek,
The gentle rise of your breath
And the lashes of your
Half
closed
eyes.

When I close mine I can almost feel
The the groove and judder
Of your spine beneath my fingertips,
Your feet, warm,
in the small of my back,
And the moisture
On your open, waiting lips.

Belfast

Nights like tonight
Are what living was made for.
Even if I nearly
Ended my own ability
To keep doing so
By standing in the road
Waving at your car
Until it was out of sight
With the starlings
Wheeling about overhead.
How did I forget
It could be this fun?

Pps.

Because I fell asleep
With the window open
Waiting for you
I am now covered in
Hundreds of little,
Itchy bug bites.

I’m scritching and a-scratching!

I think I am
Almost definitely
In love with you.

Some Day Soon

I don’t have the words for you yet
But when I do they will be glorious
And subtle and sweet and alluring
And full of depth.
And people will dozely mumble them
On the train in the morning on their way to work.
And the birds will whistle out their melody in that way birds will.
And the gentle grumbling of engines in the distance will murmur it’s agreement.

But I will rest safe in the knowledge
That I could never sum you up.

Won’t you be more tender?

The weight of your hand
in the small of my back
reminds me why,
when we were younger,
we stood awkwardly on either
side of the parish hall
with its squeaky plastic floor.
Jostling one another and laughing
or scuffing old tennis court markings
and staring sheepishly at our feet.
Trying to work up the courage
to ask you to dance.