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Taking long drives,
Through these country roads,
Catching butterflies,
And memories along the way,
Taking advantage,
Of the nicest of days

Dipping our feet in the sea,
Of sheer iciness,
Instantly feeling like needles,
Prickling our toes,
But we keep running as far as we can,
Holding hands,
as we go.

Eating a lemon top,
In freezing cold weather,
Not a single care,
When we're together,
Villages, pubs,
And countryside,
Our two hearts,
Will be full inside.

Even as summer passes through,
We always go back,
To that cosy shelter,
Whilst you're wearing 3 layers,
And my best sweater.

Birthday on the London eye,
Trying to count the bowler hats,
From up in the sky,
And seeing how many bulldogs,
Walk closely by.

Queuing for hours on end,
But filling in that empty void,
We call conversation,
Psychotic bond,
No hesitation.

I remember at the royal wedding,
As they passed by,
New princess with her dress sparkling,
I whispered in your ear,
You look much more beautiful, my darling.
Our house is a black box.
We drape every window

but one, a pinhole
to capture the sun.

At night our eyes go dark as ink.
Our memories marbleize at
the edge of the bedroom.

Come morning,
we are nothing

but inverted images
fed by shared light.

You tell me to smile
and I braid your hair.

Upstairs, the children
develop like ghosts.

I put on another record
and the dark disc spins,

its needle lulled
into grooves the way
you are lulled into me.

We could almost dance together,
but the couple at the window

will not move until
we come into focus.
David Bowie sings,
I feel restless at the cut--
The world being sold.
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