It was just a short train ride,
from a drab wasteland to our den of dreams.
We cleared out the weeds of wasted years,
waited as fairy lights formed in the ground,
grateful roots that couldn’t wait to flower and meet us,
and it took no time at all to realise that my past life had been nothing but a nightmare.
I pray by writing prose on your shoulder,
crystal tears paint a landscape on your wrinkled shirt.
I pass out, somewhere around two am,
waking to a long walk on the beach,
right where I left off with you,
all those years ago,
when I hid you in hims and theys.
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