My little heart

The dust settles and my heart is confused.
It feels like it’s beating fast every other beat.
Not skipping, doubling.

My little heart.
You can slow now.

I’m watching daisy and the six,
I’m watching Billy Dunn and Daisy Jones fall in love,
I’m watching Riley Keough and Sam Claflin make art together
and the volts between them lights up the whole of LA
and drains my computer battery
all at the same time.

My little heart.
You can feel joy.

The sky turns to fire
and I keep pausing my film to watch the new colour,
a colour that looks like white dripped in gold
and all I can think is how I want an eyedropper tool in my iris.

My little heart.
You can see beauty.

The peach pit drips with sugar,
trough the pinholes of the iron table
and onto the stone slabs of my terrace
and I wonder if ants will climb up eight floors of concrete
just for a peach.

My little heart.

It is all about the peach dripping with sugar
at sunset
on the eighth floor
while people fall in love
and realizing

My little heart.
You know what that’s like.