Monday, 4 January 2016


I have kept you
and every word you spoke
and every song you liked
and all of your inhibitions
in a book.
On every second page
is illustrated one of your many quirks.
Read between the lines
and you'll find the things I never said and yet did say
to you
about you
and for you.
I have quoted you and unquoted you,
and sometimes used metaphors to adore you.
I have broken every rule that poetry ever had
and made prose look a little mad.
For I have taken you
and written you
down on pages,
pages and more pages,
I've spent hours letting
thick paper absorb ink
that holds words,
words heavy in my veins
needing escape
words that incarnated from a feeling
and I am still reeling from the magic you provide
and how my words, you guide
and I am still surprised
how you make me write.
But I've kept you
under the blanket of my heart.
On nights too cold, under a blanket
that pales in comparison to the warmth you provide
I've remembered and revised
and gone over and over your pages enough of times
to make you out of poetry even when I can't rhyme.
I've stored you, deep inside
and even when the end is near
and if I can't find a way
to balance this, to make you stay
I will pick up that book
and hear you say
"I love you now, I'll love you everyday"
Because that book, covered in two layers
one of dust
the next of your hand and mine
will be our account of love
For all of time.