Root of Two
So cold I wore
winter but you
in every room
were a slow flame
and years later,
at a rocking table
on a boiling badly
added day, our drinks
thick with city rain.
Love digitised
won't sepia
yet we ambered
and no matter
what we care for
-grasping one hand
in the other -
it still means nothing
to someone.
Our happiness
was a calculation
pressed out and sweat
over - me plus you
minus arms
thrust down
in the drip
quiet kitchen.
Take it,
strike it out!
the answer's not news,
it was never me
was never you -
with odd fingers
linked we'll step off
the black
brick
and follow
perfect hearted
trees blazing
without ruin,
to the here now
at the table
in those laughing
unheeding hours
before we are told
our death animal
has escaped.
GJ Hart currently lives and works in London and has had work published in Isacoustic, Nine Muses Poetry, The Molotov Cocktail, The Jersey Devil Press, The Harpoon Review and others. He can be found arguing with himself over @gj_hart.
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