We, Nocturnal

Sweet, nervous, encouraging kisses
… careful upon the wet cobbles…
we shift from shadow
to underneath each overhang,
when the full Moon
owl-blinks, solemnly,
as the Milkman rattles bottles,
in a far too careless
for the delicate wee hours, manner.
Continuously switching
from ‘Lead’ to ‘Follow’
in dark, romantic enthusiasm,
we’re weaving, around,
and, between things,
naturally and clairvoyantly.
The Gateway to Sanctuary can… wait,
as I hurdle, then catch
you as you fence-drop
into my, made-for-you, arms
… and then we’re away,
leaving only the slightest,
to where the Oak Tree
grows young again,
and both roots and their branches,
entwine, deep, within their own Melody.

Paul Tristram is a widely published Welsh writer who deals in the Lowlife, Outsider, and Outlaw genres.  He wrote his first poem as a teenager following his release from the (Infamous) Borstal ‘HMP Portland’, and he has been creating Literary Terrorism ever since. Read other articles by Paul, or visit Paul's website.