Poetry

I claim the teaspoon!

A rare, tiny, shiny thing

when out at dinner trying your hand at adulting.

Those soup spoons and dessertspoons,

tablespoons and long handled ice cream spoons

just don’t feel right.

Maybe you can ask for a teaspoon

without being snorted at all night.

And what’s with these odd fancy handles, when

normal metal cutlery is perfectly alright?

Plastic, wood, swirly-intricate designs –

they just don’t feelĀ right.

 

Poetry

Declaration

I like how our fingers latch

when our hands stray close to each other.

There’s no question, no uncertainty.

They just link,

mirroring the chain binding our hearts.

 

When words fail,

and they always do when we most want them,

a touch serves as well.

 

It’s an answer. An agreement.

An ‘I’ll stand beside you no matter what

you tell me, what emotions you let out

or what sadness you let in’

contract.

 

And it’s for life.