- My feet are taking a ride on your heart.
He's got his naked feet determinedly placed against my chest at dusk.
Wants to feel how it thunders. I say mine is calmer, it was yours that was
like wild horses rumbling, when you were living inside of me.
We loved it so whenever we got to hear it, you felt so strong.
So sure of your path that you could pound, relentlessly, towards us.
I pick wild honeysuckle from the giant bush of the garden,
over and over again. Fresh water and new stems into a milk bottle
next to the bed. A creamy white night-blooming kind, that intoxicates
our darkness with a scent pregnant of ripe citrus fruits and honey.
His deep sighs inside of sleep are wordless but say it all.
We wish for nothing more.
The mornings are heat and light. Milk and honey.
Grains of sand in cotton and grazes on baby skin.
We take turns stroking the cheek, the one unbroken, catch each other's gaze
which sighs without words, grateful that the eye wasn't hurt.
Us, the mamma and the pappa with their hearts now forever on the outside.
In him, as he runs a little too fast down our street aslope towards the sea,
in the bead of blood left of the stone steps leading out from the café
where he fell. In him are we, wherever he goes.
The bump, bulky and purplish blue as a plum disappears overnight.
He heals swiftly. It is us that are scarred. Us that resound.
- My feet are taking a ride on your heart.
I write down his words, again, with date and place in a book about him.
He unknowingly, in short sentences, both summarize and epitomize what I struggle to
find words enough for. By your feet, wherever they run, these days, is also my heart.
Then you thundered right into us in ultrasound. That was then. Before we knew that we
were to change places, you and us. It will be you that seek for signs, that monitor
us for your own calm. It will be us that are reassured, soothed sighs on the outside,
hearts expelled to essential emigration for as long as we both shall live.
Goodbye, June.
x
steering more and more towards sustainable in all that we can
the top in organic linen, the straw hat, the cotton muslins and the bamboo hula-hoop
are all from beautiful danish shop okounger that focus on things ecology and organic.
favourite milk bottle in handblown glass & all natural rubber is by baby quoddle.
Wants to feel how it thunders. I say mine is calmer, it was yours that was
like wild horses rumbling, when you were living inside of me.
We loved it so whenever we got to hear it, you felt so strong.
So sure of your path that you could pound, relentlessly, towards us.
I pick wild honeysuckle from the giant bush of the garden,
over and over again. Fresh water and new stems into a milk bottle
next to the bed. A creamy white night-blooming kind, that intoxicates
our darkness with a scent pregnant of ripe citrus fruits and honey.
His deep sighs inside of sleep are wordless but say it all.
We wish for nothing more.
Grains of sand in cotton and grazes on baby skin.
We take turns stroking the cheek, the one unbroken, catch each other's gaze
which sighs without words, grateful that the eye wasn't hurt.
Us, the mamma and the pappa with their hearts now forever on the outside.
In him, as he runs a little too fast down our street aslope towards the sea,
in the bead of blood left of the stone steps leading out from the café
where he fell. In him are we, wherever he goes.
The bump, bulky and purplish blue as a plum disappears overnight.
He heals swiftly. It is us that are scarred. Us that resound.
I write down his words, again, with date and place in a book about him.
He unknowingly, in short sentences, both summarize and epitomize what I struggle to
find words enough for. By your feet, wherever they run, these days, is also my heart.
Then you thundered right into us in ultrasound. That was then. Before we knew that we
were to change places, you and us. It will be you that seek for signs, that monitor
us for your own calm. It will be us that are reassured, soothed sighs on the outside,
hearts expelled to essential emigration for as long as we both shall live.
x
steering more and more towards sustainable in all that we can
the top in organic linen, the straw hat, the cotton muslins and the bamboo hula-hoop
are all from beautiful danish shop okounger that focus on things ecology and organic.
favourite milk bottle in handblown glass & all natural rubber is by baby quoddle.
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