You are

radishes

In the spring

A blossom pink blushing buttermilk

A flotilla of 

Muslin crumpled up and warmed in the sun

A breath a breeeze

Sugared almonds on the tongue

​

You temper my animosity

Those sharpknife snags in myself

Offer chamomile comfort in the dark

A muesli in the mornings

In handcupped clay bowls that mum made before

We existed

​

You are

a filigree snowdrop

A wildflower meadow, silver-stemmed sprays

You settle the storm, the sea

Pacify the volatility, soften the grit

With your butterfly ease

Just like when you used to try and eat the gravel 

when you were little

​

You

The satin swathed moon,

the surface of a lilypond,

You dilute when I'm too strong, its brewed too long

Saturate in weakness

You mitigate to maintain

the equipoise

the balance

the nuances of domesticity

​

You are both

the background and the foreground

A Pre-raphaelite painting flaxen muse

A watercolour wash, a slow sheen

It annoys me when you take so long

to peel the sellotape from the paper

But really

your considered pace

and patience,

Is just right

​

You are

A familiarity, a home, an echo

Are you

You are

radishes