And years later, you at the bus stop.
Yesterday’s leaves in your hair.
The seat where we laughed.
Our words in the air.
Sweetheart. The years threaded up
our names scratched on the glass.
Rain argued away the grass-stained
fingerprints, the love turned over
on clumsy tongues, the moonbows,
the flimsy suns. My skin soft-tossed
in sheets, hard-kissed. The taste
of your words. The clench of my fist
in the deafening dawn. Oh day,
when the pavement rolled beneath
our feet. Bubblegum from the shop.
My Monet mouth, your Friday chips –
Stop. Darling, how we used to crease
at the waist. Pink and white laughter
poured from our lips. And when I meet
you at the curb of my sleep it is when
we were here, my heart in your hands,
your hands on my dress. They said you
spilt your filth down telephone wires.
Cheap love. Sex. I wouldn’t know.
I walked away. Like this. Yes.
Sweet Autumn by Laura Potts won 2nd Place in our 2016 Creative Writing Competition