There are days when I would run out of words to say
because poetry would have cartwheeled its way
in between our sweaty palms
as we rush down our favourite sunlit fields
in fits of laughter
hand in hand,
or in between your tangled curly hair I couldn’t braid in between rushed morning school runs,
or in between imaginary enchanted forests we’d play hopscotch for hours before sunset,
or in between the same comfort of sunlight we’d chase each day
but never get enough of.
It’s funny how we look at the same sky
with a different kind of marvel
each day, each hour.
But I guess maybe
that’s how it is
with the things we love -
I have a picture of you
captured on my phone each day;
same smile, new love.