when riding waves of sadness

it does good to remember

the safe rhythm of a slow train,

the watercolour fragility of bougainvillea,

the pointedness of cold water,

the spicy sting of ginger in tea.

the sure moment of lucidity mid-sob,

the faint vanilla hint of her moisturiser,

the warm pinkness of winter mornings,

and forgotten flowers in fat books.

or simply

that, cherry tomatoes exist.