39 To Dorset

A room so simple

Anticipation seeps through stems growing from safety

I must leave

Tears break down doors whilst whispers scurry

I bath my skin in new beginnings

A month of wet derma and wandering

A succession of curious confusion

Calling cover in maternal instinct

Contentment in curling the winter

Curbing cold heart and tongue

I splatter myself over his heart his head stringing sweet ties through curls through cut throat conclusions