crooked teeth, bruised knees, and capital cities sent my head spinning,

questioning things I didn’t think needed questioning.

dance down the aisle to the supermarket radio.

fluorescent lights scrutinise words that ring true,

but we don’t have to acknowledge them if you don’t want to,

not until shared smiles and looks caught across kitchen tiles make it the unavoidable conclusion.

russian wine, taxi rides, the worlds worst tour guide,

swear you took me down the same street six times,

but I don’t mind,

I can talk for both of us when cold air gets you tongue-tied,

and besides,

there’s safety in your feet clipping the backs of mine.

tension isn’t cut with a knife,

it’s built checking the cars locked three times,

with shared playlists and drinks and hands placed on thighs,

it’s grown when watchful eyes mean loose limbs stay by your side, but intertwine come the late night,

and when planets align mapping out star signs that I explain to you because I believe in the divine,

and in the early hours’ haze tension dies,

as our realities awaken and live and thrive.