we’ll adopt the limpest plant in all of IKEA, and you will spill soil on our sofa. That first night, we’ll peel the parrot-tinted skin of a mango,
revealing the yellow like a jewel or sudden sunrise or some other sticky cliché, leaking juice on our held hands. We’ll drown our teeth
in its gentle flesh, then turn to one another, kiss and swallow, kiss and swallow. Soon, we’ll have a garden of effusive foxgloves, damp beetles
cluttered into corners. In B&Q, our fingertips will enlace on our favourite floor tile. We’ll stack our desk with pots of paperclips and drawing pins,
let pages of my poetry drift down in their small unuseful way, to be covered by electric bills and vehicle tax and all the things that cost us.
Skye Wilson is a glittery, rugby-playing feminist. She has an MSc in Creative Writing from Edinburgh University. Skye is extremely bisexual, and a strong believer that thick thighs save lives. Find her work at skye-wilson.com, and her Twitter @skyewilsonpoet.