I placed a sprig of rosemary at your feet

By | 4 May 2016

Grief is finding bits of Tim Tams in your bed
even though you haven’t slept there for two days.
I want to move to a place where they will laugh at my dingo accent.
Pine needles pressed to cold cheeks we have read too many picture books but
also not enough. Drive slowly tonight there is a lot of water on the road I’m not sure
there is such a thing as an afterlife. Knee-deep in wild grass we walk in each
other’s footsteps the place we are going is not far from here. Coffins
are much lighter than what you think. Falling in and out
of love is like breathing: you don’t notice it
until something goes horribly wrong.

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