We walked back to hers the other night
from the bar, not drunk, not at all,
laughing a lot though, so easy
to make each other smile.
She leapt in all the puddles,
maize coloured swirls in the ***** water,
full of vigour, lips a kiss-me red
and she did this until we got to her door.
Made two herbal teas, stuck on a Fighters song,
mouthed the words into a pretend microphone,
thrashed her Irish orange hair in time
with the guitars, pretty beat by the final strum.
Flopped onto the sofa, hint of mint on her breath
as she cuddled up closer to my grey cardigan,
a furious fire before my eyes
at 10pm but the flames don’t seem to burn.