Love is you.
It is all of you
And all of me.
It is everything
That I see,
That I do.
I don’t know what to do
Without you, all of this is all true.
Without you every morning would feel like going back to work after a holiday,
Without you I couldn’t stand the smell of the East Lancs Road,
Without you ghost ferries would cross the Mersey manned by skeleton crews,
Without you I’d probably feel happy and have more money and time and nothing to do with it,
Without you I’d have to leave my stillborn poems on other people’s doorsteps, wrapped in brown paper,
Without you there’d never be sauce to put on sausage butties,
Without you plastic flowers in shop windows would just be plastic flowers in shop windows,
Without you I’d spend my summers picking morosley over the remains of train crashes,
Without you white birds would wrench themselves free from my paintings and fly off dripping blood into the night,
Without you green apples wouldn’t taste greener,
Without you Mothers wouldn’t let their children play out after tea,
Without you every musician in the world would forget how to play the blues,
Without you Public Houses would be public again,
Without you the Sunday Times colour suppliment would come out in black-and-white,
Without you indifferent colonels would shrug their shoulders and press the button,
Without you they’d stop changing the flowers in Piccadilly Gardens,
Without you Clark Kent would forget how to become Superman,
Without you Sunshine Breakfast would only consist of Cornflakes,
Without you there’d be no colour in Magic colouring books,
Without you Mahler’s 8th would only be performed by street musicians in derelict houses,
Without you they’d forget to put the salt in every packet of crisps,
Without you it would be an offence punishable by a fine of up to £200 or two months’ imprisonment to be found in possession of curry powder,
Without you riot police are massing in quiet sidestreets,
Without you all streets would be one-way the other way,
Without you there’d be no one to kiss goodnight when we quarrel,
Without you the first martian to land would turn round and go away again,
Without you they’d forget to change the weather,
Without you blind men would sell unlucky heather,
Without you there would be
no landscapes/no stations/no houses
no chipshops/no quiet villages/no seagulls
on beaches/no hopscotch on pavements/no night/no morning/
there’d be no city no country
by Adrian Henri
Snow falls again so beautifully bright
Do you think of snow one other night?
Pressed tight together for warmth, skin on skin
Our white hidden love, the drift of a sin.
Later, I skated my car down the hill
My own heart skating, your touch wordless thrill.
My own heart still skates along that dark lane
Where headlights dazzle like love once again.
For an instant, I am blinded in flight
Before cars flash past and out of my sight.
And snow falls and snow falls and snow falls still
And snow falls and snow falls at last until,
All tracks are covered and love disappears
Under the blanket of snow made by tears.
Isn’t this poem beautiful?
I like the idea of how things drift in and out of our lives and the hopeful certainty that like a tide everything eventually comes back…but then I’m a foolish dreamer, what can I say…
The evening advances, then withdraws again
Leaving our cups and books like islands on the floor.
We are drifting, you and I,
As far from another as the young heroes
Of these two novels we have just laid down.
For that is happiness: to wander alone
Surrounded by the same moon, whose tides remind us of ourselves,
Our distances, and what we leave behind.
The lamp left on, the curtains letting in the light.
These things were promises. No doubt we will come back to them.
by Hugo Williams
It’s warm and peaceful but so empty here,
I close my eyes tight and then you are near.
I doze and dream of where I want to be
Why are you not lying here now with me?
Grief is raw,
Who am I supposed to miss?
It’s too light outside,
The birds sing too loudly
And life continues blindly
From downstairs, sounds of tv or radio find their way through the floorboards,
There is the hum of an electric toothbrush,
The soft padding of the dog on the stairs.
My body throbs for an absent touch.
I want to be alone.
Take me back.
Handcuff me to a Friday,
Close and dark and ours.
Throw the keys away this time and
Keep me here.
As weeks go, I’ve had better and today everything seems a little bit pointless, even writing, so I’m just going to borrow someone else’s words. This is a poem that I love written by a person that I love.
I went to the car, to find you the red ink,
Which you’d used to refill your pen that I gave you,
And when I got there I couldn’t find it – it was
Nowhere to be seen. I saw this red ink everyday and thought of you – it was something
Tangible, real, passionate, ardent, heated and absolute.
Yet the absence of it bothers me. I want to locate it and refill you so you can continue writing the story
Of which I am a component,
Until you reach the end of the chapter and you either publish it, or leave it unfinished
If only I was Violet…
“You don’t regret it, do you?”
”How can I? Violet’s my life. I chose to live.”
“Do you remember when you told me I had beautiful knees? I never like my knees. In fact, I thought they were ugly. But your eyes have rehabilitated them. Whether I see you again or not, I’m going to live out my life with these two beautiful knees. The letters are full of little thoughts like that one but she also wrote: “It’s important now to tell you that I love you. I held back because I was a coward. I am yelling it now. And even if I lose you, I’ll always say to myself, ‘I had that. I had him and it was delirious and sacred and sweet.’ If you let me I’ll always dote on your whole odd, savage, painting self.’
Siri Hustvedt, What I Loved
”Do you remember when I kissed your toes? The ones that are strangely long? Well I hope that whether I see you again or not you will live out your life with those two beautiful toes and memories of me. I also think it is important now to tell you that I love you and that I have wanted you. All of you. From the moment I first laid eyes on you. I held back because I was scared that you’d say no. Well I’m yelling it now. And even if I lose you forever, I’ll always say to myself, ‘I had that. I had him and it was delirious and sacred and sweet.’ If you let me I’ll always dote on your whole odd, savage, selfless, beautiful, beardless self.’
Just love me.
My broken heart
Was broken twice;
A fragile lake,
Made of ice.
Then it bled
Now it pours,
These tears of mine
Are yours and yours.