You are there
baking for Christmas, siphoning
wine in the afternoon
laughing at The Singer Not the Song
your first schoolgirl crush
in Sales I see your colours:
Cinnamon, Spice, Terracotta, Rust.
I put them back
for someone else
breathing in the Blackened Orange
the small ache of cloves
Red Sand; Dust.
From Painted, Spoken No 14 (2007)