today you pulled your aching bones out of bed
and darling, that’s enough for now.
you whispered that you felt like water,
like your spine was going to pull itself out of your skin
and run away with your heart.
your skeleton’s not like your dad, i said.
it’ll always be there to support you.
the sink was red again, i know,
but later we’ll make it blue and green.
sit damp-shouldered laughing-eyed
and rub colour into each other’s hair.
we’ll be wearing rainbows and spreading suns
and we’ll lounge like lions until
your chest needs a different space to breathe.
we’re sitting in the kitchen
and you’re kissing my knuckles
and you’re trying to say “i love you”
but the words keep getting stuck in your throat.
i can hear it, i whisper. i can hear it, darling.
you smile and kiss again.
your tears, when i taste them,
make me think of the sea.