To achieve perfect lighting you need two taper candles,
a tealight, wide-span windows, and us. I watched you turn
this into an art form. A candle, lit for too long, can cause headaches.
I know because you told me and now I can’t stop
thinking about it, or you. I light
a birthday cake candle in my bedroom and half the time, I’m afraid,
and the other, I’m with you. Any headache is worth sitting close
tucked under H&M wool blankets swapping secrets, glazed
in curated honey light. Couch squares slip
beneath us tectonic plates in your living room. Sleep
we’ve tried, persuaded by a kiss, racing sun to its rising.
The two hundred euro kettle boils water—
87 degrees celsius—and we’re privy to the first efforts
of the neighbour learning a new instrument. The shirt comes off,
bare skin a prize to mind. You’ve asked me to look
at you. Eye-contact is the scariest thing we’ve done.
But you asked. The candles in the kitchen
won’t give you a headache anymore. I’ve asked them not to.
Aedín Jane Smyth is an Irish poet and writer. She holds a BA in English and Creative Writing from University College Dublin. She’s a slow-burn type of person, in all areas of her life. Her writing explores relationships, identity, ageing, and crisis. Currently, she is trying to find what feels good in life, hold on to it, and let it grow. Her work has previously been published in New Word Order, Caveat Lector, and Hearth Magazine. Find more of her writing on her Substack @aednjane.
