top of page
Image by Veronika Bykovich


the madrigal, volume iii.v


by eliza davis

9:32 pm on the district line
you touch my heart softly, warm

glances of your fingertips
smile when i turn to look at you

the quiet fluttered smile of

eyes and quirking lips,
a eulogy of gentle loving

we were headstrong children when

first i plummeted to loving you,

and i spent endless days in craving

give me tenderness, a kiss of cherry

blossom, tell me that you care for me,

tell me again, an arduous insecurity

that rots us from the inside out

shush, noisy frenzy. you did not listen

with your heart. you did not learn
the language of his kindness. you

filled the silences with fearful chatter,

you did not think to pause, attune -

his endearment is painted into pastel landscapes

the quietest, softest beauty

eliza is a poet, academic, and regular abuser of the rule of three. she writes obsessively, indiscriminately. it's always about love. last year, for christmas, eliza gave her son a scalextric. she refutes the allegations that she bought it for herself. you can find her at

bottom of page