She wanted to be wanted; to be written about in a 'the world cannot end until I've kissed you' way. Not used like china, porcelain or clay; something to be shattered and shaped, slipped into the fire to bake.   © Kristiana Reed 2018   Image credit. 


She visited me tonight, pressed her hand against my heart, caught my breath in her palm and asked me if I felt, her anger, her apathy and dismay.   She visited me tonight, pulled apart each knuckle and asked me how, many times I'd held your hand, then threatened to pin loss in my sides, … Continue reading She


The pitter patter of rain interferes with tyres, the roll of rubber I'm listening for, and as it swirls down the drain the only thing I can think of is calling out your name.   © Kristiana Reed 2018   Image credit. 


I want to listen to bird song and reminisce about love, about your touch.   Hands which are presents to open, unwrapping each knuckle, finger and thumb. A tongue which unfolds like Christmas ribbon in my mouth, brushes my lips, a kiss.   © Kristiana Reed 2018   Image credit.