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.
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.