To celebrate Pride month we got our friend Lara to contribute a poem to us about love. You can follow Lara on Twitter here.


tell me about heart
tell me about the blackness and the nothing and the everything

infinity times infinity
tell me about the feeling of her shifting next to you, about the arm that curls around you like something easy and familiar, the burn that you feel in your fingers days later, about how you sobered up on the bus home, about the flash of softness that you caught in her eyes and how it reminded you of streetlights, gold outside the windows and glow fade glow fade glow. tell me about how you hate cliches but sleep better next to her, always, every burning lovely chest-tightening time

tell me about divinity, about white gold windshield on the motorway. tell me about something small and stirring, inorganic and dark. something that feels, inexplicably, like home. tell me about knowing it’ll destroy you and wanting it anyway, tenfold.

wanting it, infinity times infinity.

“i blame you, yet i still ask for the whip”

both of us, enemies of romance
and yet, reach for me across blackness and i’ll breathe out slow, curl into you like a wounded animal, chest thumping with ‘touch me touch me’

both of us, all silk and sunset and shadows, all summer and suicide, and we won’t settle down

tell me about running
tell me about fragility and violence and hurting other people with our overflow, aftershocks

tell me about love, sweetheart

A bed unmade, and a body, or a memory of one.
Inside the dark, and inside the music of him, and inside the silver moon and its kindness.
Kind to shed a light on our affair,
Doomed as it always was.

Wondering if he’ll ever have a son, and if he’ll tell him to leave the girl behind,
And if he will believe in love.
Like his father; shoulder an empty stare, leave behind another quarter century of dead stars.
More hearts, red and crooked, drowning in themselves.

We can dream of it, still;
About how flowers somehow grew in the winter, and Saint-Germain felt like home.
About the way we ate breakfast in a cathedral of gold, another world outside.
Touching me with nameless limbs, a chorus of flames, my body as a forest fire.
Clothes meant for him, and the way he looked in Greece; like sunlight, like Apollo.
And the way it started, in the back of a van – like all good tragedies,
My skin bruising like leaves and the windows softened by warmth.

Him: still there, in the lost blue, somehow.

through the glow of the endless world 
you can speak me together then back into pieces. 
us together as luminous things, then apart like sad animals
climbing nowhere hand over hand, trailing dust. 
lost identities, all too aware of our shortcomings.
of our breathing and our hearts beating and the fire racing under our skin 
and that same fire turning to ash, again. 
of trying to prove myself
waiting for the moment that this golden building falls down around me 
forever glancing back at the accidental bruises and the memories they hold
these, all the symptoms of love, of weakness, of missing a part of me. 
i searched every illuminated city and haunted railway station and vast red sky, and still 
only found it in his grasp. flew around the unmoving world so i didn’t have to watch him die, 
and still saw ten things a day the same blue as his eyes. 
his hands, angel-boned, like amnesia
the months stretching together into another moonless night
another vault of heaven, lights, crescendo. another blue morning
like the last,
kisses falling over me like fading stars, and our cursed lives filling my bed

I’m starting to think he took the vital parts,
Left me with a ghost for skin, and a body that keeps forgetting how to breathe.
Or maybe he was the darkness, the black lit night, the home and sad eyes.
I’m recovering parts of him – the clean, rained-on smell. Kissing him on the side of the road.
His warmth and the golden morning and feeling like God was in the room somehow, like this was something beyond control, and like the world was captive with us.
The times where he left me cold and planetary,
Still in fear that maybe I had nothing to begin with.
Sitting in my car in the dark, wishing and wavering, wanting him as more than a stranger,
And losing him, still, in the empty space.
Driving home.
This is a strange unravelling; a staggering
Through the stars and the dead moments, and the running has made me breathless.
Everything in yesterday, beneath my feet, in gutters and childhood bedrooms.
I want to apologise for the way I felt like he was the only one, for kissing him like a life sentence.
I want to say I’m sorry this isn’t a eulogy, but I can’t bury us yet.