love was the soft light-through-curtains that cast the room nap-time blue.
love was the impossible wild strawberries growing through the cracks in the cobbles. love longed to press their tender red bellies to love’s lips.
love was tight tucked sheets; was fairy bread and the smell of boiling chipolatas.
love watched over you while you slept.
love was the palm tree in the front yard and the seeds that it dutifully bore and salesmen hungry for the seeds turning up every year like young suitors.
love was the year the seeds were stolen.
love was the blam of a slammed door; a shaking house and glasses dancing on their shelves.
love was my brother’s hand in mine as we listened to it from the stairwell while it fought.
love got violent then suddenly soft. love dissolved like assets. love left.
love was a lot of cockroaches for a long time.
love is still wild strawberries, tight tucked sheets and the lords prayer.
but love is also 2am and hammering at your door
refusing to leave until you
understand that it loves you.
love watches over you while you sleep.
you made love cry once. it was on the floor, weeping and asking for you.
you climbed down to hold it and it said
i’ve been love for a long time.