Tanya Chan-Sam

I never knew I loved smells; paint, jasmine, sour rot, decayed flesh, coffee aroma.
From Colombia to Java, roasted beans infused with steam, sip crema,
swallow pure caffeine.
A surprise love; my lovers;  I never knew I loved them all.
The shyest left daisies each morning.  By chance I spied him,
 tense with caution, place the yellow posy,
his six-year old fingers carefully arranging the crushed stems
in the hope I would love him back.
I never knew I loved mountains, framed by sea and sky,
white gulls daubed in the foreground,
evening light on the Hottentot Hollands.  A lover’s caress.
Until I collected stones I never knew I loved jet,
black rock found in Whitby,
bevelled and drilled into jewellery.
I never knew I loved waters; discovered I too flow and ebb.
Each day, my tides synchronised with the planet’s oceans,
we both ruled by the moon.