The morning we dragged the settee in to the garden

was a morning
when you were still a guest in my bed,
when you were still
testing out my name on your tongue
like Laverbread, like Sushi,
like something you’d never tasted.

It was a morning
when the last cold rind of winter
was giving in to spring
and I wanted to be with you
and out in it.

I wanted to douse my wrists
in its pollens.
I wanted to roll in the grass
and soak up the new season
like a dog rolling in dung.

  • Chair-by-R-Jackson

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