❦Clay Coloured❦

Bleak and bland, a bothersome blight.




I gather blueberries in my apron
and the linen is stained purple.
My fingers are discoloured, blackened,
when they reach for you most secretly.

How you stoke that fire!
Poker red hot and sharp,
a pole to drive straight into my heart.
How you throw a glance my way,
as if rolling a freshly laid egg
across the muddy yard, in play.
A gentle motion, destroyed
by my inability to handle fragile things
with any form of consideration.

Would I walk you home if necessary?
Miles and miles, miles and miles,
just to see you illuminated
by the lantern hanging at your kitchen door.
I would carry you, even.
Hold you to my chest like a sleeping infant,
clutching at your cold shoulder
and kissing your wet brow
once the rain starts pouring.

I wish to take your hands in mine,
wish to see you lean forward.
I imagine taking a different path,
one that crosses, intertwines with yours
in a way that, rather than by circumstance,
is by design,
like a handknitted jumper or knotted rope-
will you help me walk it until it’s long enough to bind us?

Would you let me take the long way home (the one past your house)
just to watch your profile
against the setting sun?
Would you let me wipe my hands on your favourite towel
as you undress before me?
And do you think you would mind if I stayed a while?