But how was I to know,
that love could be so?
That the curlicue of our spooning frames,
framed the fate of future days
In which propinquity, silently, awakened us,
to a bond beyond safety.
.
We, shrouded, in a Catherine wheel,
of opalescent haze,
Where I’d been happy,
Just to have you near,
Holding my ears gaze,
in a saccharine scented dream.
.
And the untraceable innocence,
Of love yet known,
Bought joy yet to become a blemish.
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Published by QuiffedLiterati
Chris(topher) is a doctoral researcher at the University of Warwick. He researches the turn-of-the-twenty-first-century fiction and poetry of the North Atlantic Archipelago and the Caribbean, focusing on the intersection of literature, political philosophy, poststructuralism, post-critique, and the state. He is currently writing on the aesthetics of the secret in fiction.
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