We Should Probably Get Up Now

but, outside, the world has paused:
the wind has put down its loneliness,

its fear of never being seen, or known,
and next door’s kids have stopped screaming

through the wall. The cats are curled up
around our ankles, and you say you like me

like this, with the sun falling in slabs
through the window, onto my hair,

my curls glowing orange on the pillow.
You touch my cheek

with the backs of your fingers.
In this room, we have nothing but time –

glasses of water; a vase of white roses;
miles of cotton drawn up and spun

from the earth. I could have believed
that all chances, all paths crossed

were love’s quiet design,
the architecture of its concussive maze.

Kate Vanhinsbergh is a poet from Manchester, UK, and can be found on Instagram @kate.vanhinsbergh or X @katevanbergh