I wrote this out of love. For all the mornings we pulled under duck down with us so no-one else could have them. Before the kettle muscled in When it was just us and the crack in the curtains. Your back a blank canvas to draw the soft edges of my dreams on. Freckles as full stops for my fingertips, yours still lost in full sentences. I wrote this out of love. For the five ironed shirts hanging for days on door frames leaving us in limbo Between rooms, and other things Until Friday when it would just be five hangers shivering in their exposed bones waiting for bursting washing tabs on Saturday afternoons to restart the cycle. I wrote this out of love For all the photos I’ve had to delete from my phone. Smiles that now seem weaponised. Shopping list texts that didn’t include the thing thats came next. I wrote this so that those two biro signatures on those two rental contracts, weren’t the only time we appeared on paper together. I wrote this out of love with you, I wrote this out of love for me.