Not one day goes by that I don’t think of the peas. The peas that sit in a faded, wrinkled plastic bag, neglected and alone in a dark corner of my freezer, overshadowed by the neat and tightly wrapped leftover sausages and the voluptuous curves of the frozen berries. Forgotten by all. But not by me. I think of you, peas. The way you run like a marble around my mouth until you become soft enough for me to squeeze your insides out like I used to be able to squeeze a giggle out of my girl. The way the green sweetness that you fill my mouth with tastes an awful lot like the way her kisses tasted. I think about you peas, and you mean more to me than I can say.
Published 27th January 2020