Cold water then it warms a little. Cold tiles beneath her feet like the moon and all those rocks that fly through space without us ever knowing their fate. She stands on tiptoes and looks through the window at the street below. It’s chilly and sunny and smells like coffee. The shower takes an age to get hot so she inspects herself in the mirror by the sink. She got those love handles. She holds them and frowns while inspecting her booty. Too big. Far too big and not in a good way. Turning her nose and shaking her head, she ignores the mirror and touches the water again. Nice and hot, but now it’s too hot, so she fiddles with the taps until it’s just right. When she steps into the bath, she pulls the shower curtain and smiles. She fidgets and shakes her hips before showing her face to the beads of water falling from above. Spreading soap over herself, she closes her eyes and hums, and as the music flows through her veins, so the stars in her belly tingle and pulsate. She comes into bloom away from prying eyes. She shimmers like the surface of a lake beneath a spring sun, and as the beads of water splash onto her face, so a light shower falls outside, and for a few seconds, these explosions of colour and life are enough to banish the dust and funk of a pure heart that has a habit of shrinking when it should know only wonder. Squeezing tight her eyes, she sees herself in all places. As a poem yet to be put into words. As a soul that knows galaxies and star stuff the way others know only limitation. This Icarus girl, how she smiles and how she gives wings to the smallest of things.

A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon.co.uk

A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon.com