Me in the cleft of his neck, kissing his goatee.
Nuzzling like I will sleep, but not daring to for want of him.
Supermalt, smirnoff, rose.
A film - hopefully completed. (Who knows what the drink might do?)
Laughs, giggles.
Tears. (He goes away this week)
Kisses.
Deeper ones.
A flailing of hands.
All over bodies.
Tenderness.
More tears. (My heart will go with him)
Me being carried to my room.
A joint prayer.
A kiss on the forehead.
‘I love you’ whispered.
Sweet slumber.

And if I am able, I will show you the pictures.

Baby, if you don’t make sense of your world(of me),
who will?

I am all the women you see here, in part and whole.
That should frighten you, and make you spill yourself
all over everywhere, all at once.

After writing my note: ‘Crabs’ , I’ve realised two things:
I’m afraid of being and staying afraid
and I have way too much to be grateful for.

I’m going to go and swim now, I might not actually move, just
lose myself in the water and that truth.