by RME Thornhill

If your thoughts were skimming stones
Smooth and flat and cold in my palm
Or your hands were a poet’s, wrist deep
Sunk in the buckets of words I keep

If your soul was a wedding ring tarnished
Thrown away in a kitchen sink
Your breath a lake that shrank and swelled
Your promises coins in a wishing well

Your disarranged clothes, my bedsheets
If your dreams were leaves on my forest floor
Or your fingerprints held me like cobwebs
Tightly pinning my arms and legs

If this, or this, or this or that
If a heart could be tamed like a cat

–

RME Thornhill is a poet and author based in Bristol. He has been published in a variety of online and print magazines and performs his poetry regularly.