YOUR CAR by Willow (South Africa, 31)

If ever a symbol of us existed,
It would be your car
A car made of cursory confessions
Stored under seats
Pinky promises stretched across our chests,
Become the only seat belts we'll ever need
The day's insecurities tossed in the back
(you think we'd be more careful with our worst fears)

Fastest routes are forgotten with a touch to your thigh
And this car, your car,
A car made of hollowed out Starbucks cups
And McDonald's fumes
Intertwined with the smoke of bad decisions
Has become shelter
From the storms slipping through our fisted fingers

​On these overcast afternoons
We let the windows down,
If only so the oceans I spill can make their way home
A quiet tsunami
(in your car)
The salt residue our only reminder





Willow spends her 3am hours writing poems inspired by, and for, her partner. She hopes to weave together fleeting moments of their lives together into something tangible, something with permanence; to be remembered and revisited on days where sorrows stretch like shadows and words are in short supply. But mostly, she just hopes for love, in abundance - always.