I’ve been out watching moths
wings made from buddleia petals
brains the ghosts of embers
edges still lit
threads a fuse
a draft drifts
through your fingers
fields of grass
tickles your palms
muzzle of a dog
wet for a walk
dandelions detonate
within your dreams
sky wakes you
sings through
the letterbox
curtains need the breeze
to touch the room
a little more
all my taps are dripping
the sun froths and flares
sunlight and midnight
lines the inside
of our chests
replaced my heartbeat
with the syllables of your name
I don’t think about the thorns
I think about the blackberries
of your love
how they reveal the labyrinths
of my fingerprints
that touches the dark
trying to find your face
words brighter
than the paper
they scar
I write to you
to keep you near me
leaves become
same colour
as the fire
that made them fall
I wonder if the candle
is sucking smoke
back into its body
lamps wore away
at the dark
glass the gatekeeper
asks the sky
if they’re on the list
share the snowfall
from a streetlight with you
shoulders dusted with shine