Fresh, Clean Bedding Pip Hanser I forget the exact sound of her voice, Or what her face looks like when sleeping. I don’t know how her hair falls down her back, Or how her jaw clenches when eating. But I know how she feels. She feels like finishing all your work Or that emotional tune, Or having nothing to do On a Sunday afternoon. She feels like that moment When you look at your friends Against the black background of a Friday night That you never want to end. She’s like a freshly clean face Or the end of a walk; A perfectly cooked lasagne; Hearing your favorite person talk. Maybe her hair falls like treacle, And her skin is soft as daisies. All I know for certain is She’s like thick, lump-less gravy.
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