morning routine

it is 7:30am and the alarm is going the fuck off 

in this moment I am 

one finger one eye one screen 

an experiment a dream 

just eyelids on pillows 

adrift

asleep

until I remember who the fuck I am 

it is now 7:50 a.m. 

and my heart leaps into my eyes and beats them wide, wide open. 

i rise 

albeit groggy and limp 

sit amongst languid sheets 

like a garden 

stare into my folded reflection 

in full bloom and 

proofing like freshly kneaded dough

yes, I rise

you are behind me and you are 

deep asleep with your perfect 

porcelain 

breasts 

uncovered

rising and falling 

like the ocean 

like a slow orgasm 

like an empire 

it is 7:55am and I am dressed 

my legs fight stair after stair 

as our 12-year-old leo sun is in the lounge 

uniformed and eating weetbix 

I gratefully kiss his forehead 

and ask how he slept 

“good thanks, how about you” 

I think of my lover’s tongue and hands 

and the way they taste so sweet 

round my throat 

and I reply “good thanks”

and think 

this is the mouth that fights 

that flirts 

that fucks 

and this is also the mouth that asks my only child 

how he slept 

and rains kisses upon his forehead like 

I wasn’t face deep in pussy 10 hours ago 

it is 8:03 a.m. and I am lovingly making a sandwich 

the smearing, the cutting, the placing 

muscle memory pathways, my hands expertly nimble, 

these are the hands of my ancestors 

of gardeners

of navigators 

these are the hands that soothe

that coo

that hold with gentle understanding

these hands have known a million different ways to love 

these hands, are his hands too

and then I think about 

how he is completely capable of making this sandwich 

and how this sandwich isn’t actually a sandwich though

but a blanket 

a hand held 

a thumb wiping a teary cheek

a reassurance that he is safe and loved 

that he can trust in this connection

it is 8:10 a.m. and we pack his bag 

get into the car and all down Bealey Ave 

Lil Nas X is singing about 

not fucking bitches 

coz he’s queer 

and we both sing it loudly

and my sun tells me about a TikTok where 

a Man trails protein powder behind him

whilst sarcastically stating 

“I hope a gym bro with thick thighs 

doesn’t follow me home 

how sad would that be” 

and we both laugh 

and laugh 

and laugh until it is 8:28 a.m. and 

I ask if he knows what that means 

and he pats his hair outside the school gates saying “yes” 

and I reply “Ok – just making sure”

he leans on my shoulder for 

the kiss, 

the “I love you” kiss, 

the reassurance kiss.

so I plant the kiss in his hair 

and hope it roots deep 

he swings his bag over his shoulder 

it is heavy, thuds his back like a man 

off he walks in those worn leather shoes 

as he straightens himself for the day

I have to fight myself to drive away 

toward my morning coffee, my sleepy lover 

toward poems that may as well write themselves 

and I think 

how his feet are bigger than my own and he’ll be okay

how his skin becomes browner in the summer and he’ll be okay 

how I miss days sprawled all over one another and he’ll be okay 

and how we will spend springs and autumns outside and 

he’ll

be

okay

I take my coffee creamy and sweet 

like the skin of my lover 

like the child I birthed 

they have seen me strip myself to the bone 

use my guts a cloak, as a shield 

make a new home for us all 

we have learnt to be apart 

but I am still not used to the ache in my chest 

my body hangs softly for him to land on 

in those times that he feels lost 

I just hope those kisses grow forests 

And he remembers where he is home