I let her have my lonely, hopeful prayer,waiting and whispering for the familiar, fair light to fall upon me.Her grace flows as she surrounds me,gentle balm to my beating, weeping heart,and I beat the sky in the race to raise daylight,as she arrives, enchanting and without exasperation.

What became of you?That’s the question that cascades from chaotic whispers as I catch my gaze in the mirror, and gasp,laughing at the lack of lines in my ageing face as another day dawns. I write myself a postcard,calling into the radio four,but nobody ever answers,because I stopped existing when she kissed me this morning.…