bone

by Yrsa Daley-Ward

what love isn’t It is not a five star stay. It is not compliments and it is never ever flattery. It is solid. Not sweet but always nutritious always herb, always salt. Sometimes grit. It is now and till the end. It is never a slither, never a little it is a full serving it is much too much and real never pretty or clean. It stinks - you can smell it coming it is weight it is weight and it is too heavy to feel good sometimes. It is discomfort - it is not what the films say. Only songs get it right it is irregular it is difficult and always, always surprising.

If you’re afraid to write it, that’s a good sign. I suppose you know you’re writing the truth when you’re terrified.

It’s never too late to be wise. See how your spirit has been fermenting.