Hyacinths
Look at the hyacinths on table
Each bud has opened and even though they are now limp and smell of damp sweat and the place I love to bury my face between your tshirt and your neck
they are the brightest blue
Today I thought about how I should press them to remember this cold wet Spring and how I have been happier than any person has the right to be
waking next to you
gazing at the hyacinths you gave me
The stems are blue too
I love this colour
like rolling summer skies and storm clouds together
I said the same thing once about your eyes.
(first published by Sunday Mornings at the River 2022)
