brushstroke of a saturday.

Should we start with Egypt, you ask,
and we do, two boys on a
Saturday unseasonable, your
passion flows freely, describing
Hatshepsut and Blanche Devereaux
with equal enthusiasm, I am
grinning, we are
kissing in the Met’s
quietest corner

Funny the way
tentativeness melts to the
floorboard, how we look back
on the nerves with fondness,
forget just how wonderful
it is to be at rest
with someone

By candlelight, dinner,
the drinks all wrong but
we drink them, share
stories and the hummus plate,
charm the server for more
pita, make a plan for
where next, then we linger
in the glow, conversation
a beautiful book, no clear
‘good place to stop’

It’s a blur, but it’s warm,
when you retell stories
you laugh like you are
experiencing them for the
first time, and it’s
wonderful, good to clasp
hands that build amidst
all this breaking, Saturday
stolen from a cold winter,
pin it gently against the wall.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s