A slight breeze of wind carries
Off your voice, the butterfly
Of your words drifting to a far away never,
Pinned down with a solitary needle,
Through the heart,
Love’s true dart.

Some said you were inhaled with ferocious delicacy, only to be
Exhaled into back street pubs and rented motel rooms with broken curtains for broken hearts - societies stinking breath in your eyes.

Others feared that you were the wave’s rhythm, each lap taking you to somewhere warmer,
you are the wind chill,
you are the sonnets lapping on the shore,
I hope you’re sure.

I am here
And you are further forever than I.