I come to you
in your vision
of my world
a century away
without any faith~
brocade drapes drawn
against your wet
English whiskey streets
to tap my love at
your unconditional door
after months have gone
from friendship fleeing
like men at
the confessional
and I know that though
the days continue to
roll around like
smooth pebbles
there's no need
to worry about
whether or not
your accent will
still recognize me

Written by Sara Fielder © Dec 2015