He found her standing before
the large Ocean staring unseeing at
its mysterious frozen surface. She was
shivering. He watched her
doubtfully for a moment.
"The Ocean is too cold and too big."
The Goddess thought out loud.

In reality, The sky was too: cold and too big.
And the
whole world
was: too cold, too big. And even too
cruel.

'Goddess,'
he said to her back, where’s
your coat?'
'Where’s yours?'
He moved to stand beside
her hourglass figure. 'I’m warm.'
She tilted her head to his.
'If
you’re warm and I’m coatless,
there’s only one friendly thing
for you to do.'
'Go back and get your coat for
you?'
She smiled. Reaching out to
him, he pulled her close
against him. Being a gentleman he wrapped
his arms around her,
surprised, and tried to rub
some warmth into her
shivering shoulders and back.
'That’s it exactly,' Goddess said.
'You must keep me warm.' As a gesture to never let her go,
He laughed and held her
tighter with one hand, while drawing a sword at the rest of the world.

At it for five minutes, maybe six,
and we’re watching them both
from our go-to spot in the King’s Horses
across the street, transfixed
by this unscripted drama unfurling
before our eyes, a right old spat
between, presumably, students
on the lash, straight outta Camden.

I’m clutching my last fifth of pint
as if it’s the final swig I’ll ever savour,
the rest of the pub’s regulars and stragglers
oblivious, minds on the mundane,
such water-cooler coffee-machine gabble,
but we’ve tuned into the action,
silent theatre, much gesticulation,
coatless girls impervious to the chill.

I blink, I turn, a rookie blunder
for in that barely a second speck
you’ve flung the ready salted to one side,
a gasp spilling from your cherry-red mouth
as the chick on the left has arched back,
propelled a fist, thwacked her prey,
one hit and I missed it, the evening’s highlight
unrecorded with no live rewind.

Ten seconds pass. I have birthed a long sigh,
both felines having scarpered,
one nursing their wound, bruise to be.
I let the last, flavourless dreg of Carling
slide past the tonsils before we make to leave,
recover from the unexpected, single wallop
to the chops, Friday night morsel of excitement.
I chuckle about it, privately, as I head for a wazz.

mad and tiny toed
she came to share my asylum sleeping place
a wonder in the moonlight's dust-ride
a wrangler of the dreaming

winterworn and coatless,
i slept soundless,
wept tearless,
woke restless;
for the hinges of time's doorways creaked non-stop with our leaving