Page 51 - The Woven Tale Press Vol. III #11

We’ve collected empty Marmite jars for no reason, no reason at all.
We get tired, we go to bed, have sex in the afternoon. Snow flutters like feathers past the frosty winter windows. Face to face, we lie on the cool side of the pillow, wrapped in each other’s arms like two monkeys.
My fingers play with the silver hair at your temples,
you stroke my face and I breathe slowly.
Jigsaw pieces.
We always did fit nicely.
You call me in my dreams at night. I’ve felt your plush wings
spread wide, enveloping me.
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