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Sep 2020
It starts with you
(we dont begin with a lie,
at least)

passing a bulb stolen straight
from the middle of a
(kids play football on a neon green carpet)
lily-lilting fingers slightly bent
cat-pads bristle and extend towards
to be attached
to be attached
to be attached
  to my face
I crawl at them, quick
     they play my skin

like paint that beats in drops of rain
From the spring of our shafted fountain-head

(lily pads surrounding, and the paving stones I invite you to, laughing to see your eyebrow crook
at all the sun around you)

and in the time it takes to think of a response
i've stapled a swing to the moon
just to
watch, how you watch me and
   be proud of
        how I
manipulate, the beaming

casting shapes from my shadows in rose and opals,
and ***, snakes and ballroom
on the rolling globe beneath us;

(We hover over, our heads together,

a millenia ago I deep myself in pavement mild
the buildings that keep secrets
of the vistas in rambled office parks
of a light that turns metallic and bright

to remind us of when to come

when ivy runs the ruins of concert halls
and you and I still walk the steps we made before
sombre leaping silver to the sky
tinkling a trail
of harlequin puppets
from our coat tail, sweeping :

with the promise that we will try.

So: another life, we sit on a sofa and smile drinking coffee a cold light outside and a bird on a naked tree, and it has been a year or maybe three, and still we are managing darling, we are doing it, we are still in love, and navigating every moment as if we always will be in and out of everything.
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