peppers & overcooked pasta

we lay on the bed tangled in one another.
the atypical angles we hold our bodies at,
effortlessly slide into place
revealing a fresh new shape.
  
we become both the soft vibrant clematis,
and our sharp lattice of trellis.

the sun is caught in her palm
as it tries leaps through my gallows brackets,
behiend the slim and fiddly window;
its faulty latch, never seated in the right place...
just like the two girls that could never fit in.

the sun's goodbye forces upon us
a victual duty.
      if only for a moment
            we are the mother
                  of just a simple meal.

under the veil of dusk
we pluck wisps off begrimed cupboards.

chop, fry and wait, 
for chilli-oil to breathe new life on wilted greens,
as a drake breathes upon its prey.


we call it ours
- and partake