Laying Watching the Bluish/Grey Swifts and Swallows Dance off your Menthol Cigarette …

... from the Gentle Warmth of our Reconciliatory Bed

… and you randomly mention ‘Angel Delight’
with a self-conscious giggle
“Don’t You Think It’s Such A Strange Name
For A Bit Of Old Mousse?”
I stretch, whilst belly-laughing,
and almost crack a shoulder blade
with the force of my happy Thunder.
Tipping ash, whilst springing sideways,
you scold me softly and playfully
for not being careful enough for your liking
“What Would I Do Without You, My ‘Ansome Boy?”
There are tombstones crumbling to dust somewhere…
and I just do not care in the slightest.
I think it’s starting to rain outside, good…
your voice gets lighter, as you reciprocate my smile,
and start gushing about the many things
which we haven’t done yet… like,
stealing apples from a mean person’s tree,
building a crap snowman and defending it until the last.
Then, of course, there is our first Spring
(Coming up in only a few months time)
and Belgium, that bookcase you spotted in Exeter…
and our FUTURE, big and bold and beautiful…
and sometimes just too much to believe or bear.

Paul Tristram is a widely published Welsh writer, who’s currently up to his elbows in Magic, and long may it remain this way. Read other articles by Paul, or visit Paul's website.