The train stops panting
I start to breathe
Poke my head around the bramble
See if it’s real

The artery of the station
An ever-winding sweet pea forest
A woodland cemetery
Black beauty’s still there

No splinters to my soles
Ankle cuts instead
Ball of fur that prowls and cries
But warms my lap at night

Yorkshire tea, toast with butter
Slumped in the rabbit hole
Then the fairy light switch on - not like Blackpool’s poor attempt

Twilight comes, I wait for bats
Scratch go the branches
On the bathroom window, I shudder though I’m not scared anymore

Weddings under the arch
Between me and my love sleep
We drink pink lemonade
Grow roses round the shed

I’ve magic in my finger tips
Spouting only when I’m here
Fields of an un-jaded me
For miles and miles and miles