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by bex hainsworth

Mid-January, and we can’t

afford to put the heating on.

As soon as I sit down, you drift

along the cold current of the sofa

and attach yourself to the rockface

of my ribs like a barnacle.

The grey blanket around your shoulders

tightens into a shell, almost-armour.

You snuggle into my crevices, hold fast;

Prometheus willingly latched to my fire.

We have formed an ecosystem, swaying

together in an icy tide, snug, safe,

revelling in our symbiosis.


Bex Hainsworth is a poet and teacher based in Leicester, UK. She won the Collection HQ Prize as part of the East Riding Festival of Words and her work has appeared in Atrium, Okay Donkey, bath magg, and trampset. Her debut pamphlet of ecopoetry will be published by Black Cat Poetry Press in 2023. Find her on Twitter @PoetBex.


Image by Bree Anne
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