Talking of you
brings you closer;
each increment of speech,
a bounding leap,
to that perfect smile.

We could wait
and do things without each other,
a while to tumble,
thumbs down, thimbleful
or fall,
if at all.
But by pause in
claws in;
retracted to be free,
please.

Now I never have loads of cleaning to do therefore I wouldn't class it as a chore,
but despite my scrubbing being easy I do find it a tad of a bore,
when I get in I just wanna chill, catch up on television and have a feed,
perhaps put on some Coronation Street and then have a bit of a read,
but sometimes the bin needs taking out and then I'll have a hover around
as there are little bits of dust and detritus embedded in the ground,
I'll get the wipes and shine the surfaces until they have a gleam
or wash every dish in the sink to make them looking pristine,
but however stuck I get into elbow grease I'd rather be doing my own vibe
like reclining with rest on the sofa or if I felt like it having a jive;
but when I knew you were coming to stay tonight I thought  "ohh I want to tidy my room"
not because it was an absolute tip or it resembled a junk heap of doom,
It was as I wanted the best for you as I like it when you share my space,
your presence places more springs in my step and throws another smile on my face.
So although last night was spent vaccing and taking nascent cobwebs from my wall
I didn't feel like I wanted to do anything else, there was no yearning at all;
preparing my boudoir for your arrival is not a graft I rue,
I don't mind doing cleaning when my cleaning is for you.

Rather than write
a Christmas card to you
I wrote this for you.
And that's not because
you're not
on my Christmas card list,
you are (lucky you)
but instead
I wrote you this.
There are folk on ma Christmas card list,
my Ma is on ma list,
cos whenever I'm home
Ma makes me feel like I'm missed.
And friends who see me through fog
when I'm caught in the mist.
And a card for Father
who explained the wow in tryst.
Other friends get a card on the list
for their music and bliss,
I suppose causing bliss gets on the list.
And as you've caused bliss
you're on the list,
for;
the joyful daze in days,
you sometimes made Sundays sun days,
with talk of ace
and gave
a slight gaze
at
synchronistic blue,
top you.
This is not write in Christmas card,
it's writing for you.
Merry merry Christmas
merry Christmas
to you! ***

A transient stay rescinds
fall by fall,
as it always would;
dropped what once caught
the full of the sun.

After the ordeal
you really make things bright,
replacing tirades of darkness for little skips of light.

Our precision,
the click
of cogs,
knowing what is
and knowing what was;
I recks in the multiverse
from beginning to end
there would not be a chapter when I was not your friend.

In the air you appear,
slowly,
winning a race and delicate.
Far from frost
and stuck engines
or fall;
with,
exquisite essence of thaw.

How does Poppet feel in this sun?
Does she know in a few she's one?
Furry insides;
purry kin rides.

As natural as you
is how I want to be,
moving before
formalised thought
into the you
of yourself
without thinking;
understood
as easy
as a season.

Today,
on paper,
we've toured
a football ground,
but that description
neglects our fantastic found
displayed
in
leaping bound;
it's whenever I'm with you Dad,
it's whenever you're around.

I can speak all day in tongues about Poppet!
Pop! Pop! Popsicle
you're making this time in my life,
the best discoveries towards you, may your joy be rife. When you purr it's nice.
You run to me when my voice does call you noise,
you arrive for our near,
excited for the happy times, I think that's pretty clear.
I never want to own you
as I know you wouldn't like that,
but please stay around
my stupendous tabby cat.

On that couch of yours
may we meet more
and have more of our
tour de force,
leg over leg,
involved in everything of me and you,
condensed,
like a good haiku:
taunt and magical,
strong wind carrying the blue,
holding safe and true.

From quite far away
you make me spin on the spot,
and despite the miles engender
my trot:
see your reaching magnificent sends range
to my feet,
and us it is ours
the next time we meet.

Still,
this summer breeze;
no wait for me
or
weight on me;
you make me light
and untouched by form,
when we touched you were warm enough to startle the birds
from the trees,
on the summer breeze.

Your snore
does not allure
it's clattering cronk drives me mad,
every molecule of it forces me to sad,
I hate it when I think you've stopped and there's
a lull in the house of pain
but then it spluters back into life and invades my space again;
it's obtrusive to my slumber,  it disturbs my beauty sleep,
I try to hold back tears
but I can't help but wheep,
I have no recourse but to nudge you to try and stop the daemon howl,
I need to quell misery's guttural and halt this Hellish growl,
you startle and sit up but soon settle back into the cries of doom: the minions of Belzubub chanting about gloom.
But despite the fact that when you rest you chudder
as a foghorn lacking charms
I am glad when my eyes open I'm near to your arms,
because although you gurgle with terror
and blast a Witchfinder General coo
I'm always pretty happy when I awake with you.

The stuff of bright
in motion
shining spectacularly fast;
it's the move of
your fantastic.

Heroics, is it?
Cloak out, feeling supreme,
air billowing serene
and
beaming a dream
of you.

After you’ve ran with green through knowing frantic summer strength
you fall,
in going home rain,
with all the land in the world.

In this happy haze you can appear
and make me smile involuntary;
ferrying me to ace,
the thought of your face.

Galloping joyfully the stampede of you
to tremendously splendid rendezvous.

You're right,
your age is a good knock,
made with umpteen strokes
of splendour
and aplomb release;
i'm glad you came to the crease.

Every step of you is heavy
but
not heard ;
loud silence herd.
Imprinting delicately,
you're a delicacy.
I stop and hear only me moving ;
compelled by you.

You rumble gently,
slightly shifting
what was ground,
my feet on it, next to yours,
we tour debris of before,
no looking down at dust,
detritus, not now, not for us,
no time at this time,
for us.

You walked in August gardens,
a young lad,
sleek.
Then old, you lay
by bloom.
But,
you are in me,
not the ground,
nor the sound of tears
but the galloping brook
that ran through my years,
nourishing my roots,
one leaf strong enough to withstand
the autumn of your passing.

Missing a shapeless space
and preparing for a view
that moves closer,
slowly and sure
into vision.
Precision, timing,
a perfect arriving.
Now.

In this early summer placement
it's easy to arrive
at your blue eyed station.

Seems more than something this,
the way
you're on my mind.
Any good thing reminds me of you;
a dot of sunshine,
a high five in a happy time,
a joyous voice projected,
a touch in connective,
contentment in reflective,
a mean wall
relented;
you you you,
you make the sky
all new.

Holding our us is like being in a wonderful clearing that knows fantastic talking hearing,

and,

no contemplation of

division,

as every decision is flowing with the see of 20/20 vision;

senses heightened with perfect precision.

Some seams
seem
far
from
undone;
they no see tie
in the full of run,
but
can
stop
in
topple
when the future
is fit to burst.

On every brink
of an idea
you appear,
nestling with the dive
into thought,
you infuse and wrought.
Fought for position,
to lose,
back to tumbling
without lines
underlined ; or meant clarity,
as for you.

As strong
and
bright
as
best light.
The kind of shine
that does
not dig
or seek
removal of dark,
it excavates
with spinning
flourish
of
radiate;
never too much
in your escalate.

Not waiting for return
& craning for perhaps distant flap
of wing.
Or to hark when all will be a flutter
with colour & movement,
arriving with the know of bloom.
Not to think that.
Instead settled while migration back far from thought at night;
but when they do,
swift in flight.

In your company
we hop to the top,
our held hands hold
the air we draw on
near the summit;
running gravity out of town,
what goes up
not coming down.

Through a train window
I see a little pony
gallop
in
the winter sun light;
that's what
I
do,
gallop
to you.

I'll besiege your speed
with my speed
and hope to run with the rush of today,
engaging,
not to pass by blindly
and stumble
but reaching,
if not touch,
still reaching

You never fail
to rise from fog,
diluted air parted
by what your heart is.
Learning not passed up;
you thirsty cup!
Some
time
you won't shine,
in, be, when, past
fast

When love starts
grief marks the board
and grieves
for parts inevitable.
Forced and unwelcome;
the longest
not enough.
But,
if not for love
parting is kind,
and hurried through the door,
to make is,
what was.

You promise green
&
then grow
with splendid aplomb.
Your fantastic encroachment
verdant & happy;
branching a reach
to beyond.

Silly
to hear you say
that I might not have thought
you looked beautiful
today;
your stupendous made dally
with all the air,
your best side everywhere.

Last 25th you were all life
and your voice mirrored the bells at the start of the day;
ringing with joy
and hope,
so it's only natural you'll be missed in these hours:
no you heard
in a multitude of sound,
a million plates laid at the table and still
everyone asks
where you are;
a billion lights search for a star.
Yes, you left quite the impression,
as if anything else possible;
and we'll always remember you,
always raise you in a cheer,
especially at
this
time
of year.

When I throw
a nasty little thing like ego out
by my invouluntary
fingers
I worry people
just think I'm making
crazy hand shapes
in the air;
Nar,
these fantastic digits carry care.

One last sting I have in me
before the last leaf leaves the tree,
one last kiss you have in you,
before routine runs you through.
In the summer at full strength
I terrorised the giants as they drank,
in the spring when you began,
you skipped and danced and ran.
The cold gets to us all ;
ask
the October wasp
and love in frost.

If there was mire
you'd lift me above,
if all was hate
you'd provide love,
if you were a soul mate
you'd give me a hug
and clean the air if I was choking on fug,
and chew for me to get rid of cud,
and find me dry land in days of flood,
plasma me up when short on blood;
you'd walk me if my legs were spent
you'd give it meaning if I don't know what it meant,
you special shimmer,
you're heaven sent.

You flew in short May,
thriving in nest,
sore from birth
but soar earth with best.
With dreams fell wing;
but fly once, & sing.

Much you make,
out of nothing,
just the thought of you is
exciting;
you breathing in Autumn,
your pace, your stay,
your wait.
Strident steps
full of all tense at once,
forging anew.

Hours of moving around
and flitting
between
different spaces
always feels good,
things fall into place
as they should,
but lying next to you,
still,
means not a crave
for anything else,
as your wonderful self
is enough to bring a day
that's simply bright;
the close join of our eyes
making all of sight.

Near a white room
i'm told,
there are days arranged
when i will miss you.
Cold, and reaching,
for shapes in space;
without home
to run back to.

With swift intuition
Christmas day
always feels like Christmas day,
it's own unique parapet
where reach becomes now,
& close grows,
& cats
always land on their feet
& know the meaning of treats ; grub full.
You've made every Christmas good,
you're too good.
Settling platforms for festive forms
where love is the norm,
as papers' torn.

Thank you,
close to you
means
lessons,
no less than
a best,
beat in chest,
best at chess.
you manoeuvre me
to clearing sea.
Thank you,
you.