Love is like
the seasons.
Always changing,
sometimes raining,
or maybe shining
down on you.
Conversations that
burst, like the first petals
of spring, budding
with anticipation
for a new found
compatibility.
A kiss like honeyed figs,
ripened in the warmth
of a summer long and heady.
A touch that lingers
like the four pm
sun, teasing your
skin with its
fading strength as
early autumn afternoon
sets in.
And the silence that
seeps at two am
on a saturday when
you’re still not home,
wrapped in
winter’s blanket
bitingly cold.
Whilst I lie beside
the dent you
left in the pillow,
fervently wishing
you would
at least light up my
phone.

This poem was written by Connor Amor-Bendall. Connor is a New Zealand-born journalist and artist who is based in Melbourne. She has a keen interest in politics, poetry and pastries.