There is so much to say
that space is eaten up by insecurity
or is it rather that the tap of words is
suddenly fixed and
nothing leaks out of my lips?

My brain, no, synapses, race so fast
that even with my shoelaces untied, running backwards
it can still win against my vocal chords
and shout “You’re it!”

I tag you in comments and photos
but only when I’m sure your ex
is someone else’s relationship status.
I wonder about mine.
What do we let slip? When does blank become “it’s complicated”?

We are a tabula rasa each time
and write with feathers and lemon ink
that disappears when we leave the present moment

“Life is an improv” said Ruth
and we are practicing daily
the art of not weather forecasting
but feeling the raindrops hit,
and squinting into the sun
while crafting rainbows.

We sometimes colour over the lines,
bleed blue & purple into
grey & black
read each other’s entrails
in our need to predict and prevent catastrophe.

But we are learning, and nothing’s wrong with
a spelling mistake or rubbing out
and starting again.

You see, love gets out by osmosis
even when there’s a blockage in the pipe.
My eyes are dripping
while my soul smiles towards
your sun.