egg moon / milk moon

lie down by my side

under our hot galaxy

and unfold – and unfold

your arms until they reach 

mine – 

lily-like and white in the moonlight.

we knot our fingers together like 

branches in the frost, let the earth gape

beneath them.

I am buried in stars, in light

the cool colour of eggs

and it’s hard to stay warm here when

the air is green as money.

pour us tea from a red flask,

a red flask like the one your grandma

bought, two weeks from home

when she sat at the back of a bus going

the wrong way, honey in her heart,

pockets heavy with 10p coins.

with feet (welly boots a frozen ache)

planted and growing roots in the earth,

we’ll drink milk in a blue cup.

a cup of blue milk each.