MR. BLUE SKIES

He clasps her
'round her tiny waist

in a chap-ish
1940i-ish manner.

The size of his hand
almost cleaving her

into two
distinct sections

like an ant
she thinks.

She laughs
in b&w.;

A sudden gust
blows the chiffon

the blue material clinging to
her new found woman's shape

her every curve
outlined and how

so that it appears she's ****
as a Windmill girl.

"Now, now..!" she stays
his straying hand.

She calls him her
Mr. Blue Skies.

She gives a cheery wave.

"And just who are you
waving to..?"

he whispers into her
***** blonde hair.

"I'm waving to the future
me who

will be looking back
at this me now!"

"Hello me!"

"You're daft!" he laughs
tousling her curls.

He goes to fight Mr. ******
in the skies.

Never comes back.

Takes this photo
everywhere with him.

She often thinks of him
lost up there in the sky.

The photograph returned
to her.

She never had another chap.

And now only now
does her future self

wave back to
the girl in the photograph.

She strokes his face
with a fingertip.

He smiles.