Six pasta parcels presented themselves on the plate. Red wine jus dripped from the glass menagerie. Clawing at my knuckles amid chuckles from the table opposite. Peas split and I spat out my fears into the face of the person I love. We celebrated the day in our normal way, me in bed and he on a bicycle. Weaving in dream lanes lacing spokes, an articulated lorry thrust my butterbreath. My hips crumpled on the staircase as I grasped at cakes with eggs on top. A caramel catastrophe caught on camera. Gluteal muscles gnawing.

Twinging all the way to the seaside. Looking out over a wrecked cargo ship full of explosives. Sighing in the mist. We kissed.

Grimacing through the ache, en route to the lobster/love shack. You ate mussels and I cuddled a daiquiri, nursing my nerves. I sat on the shingle and wrote a poem about birth certificates and a review of Belly‘s Christmas 2022 acoustic release. Saccharine sounds soothing in the cool surf. Pirate pups on my lap, saving the day. Along with pastel-coloured stickers and washi tape.

I posted an envelope full of coasters to Wiltshire. Signing, coasters from the coast.