[you but may I be do hard get to you. read,]

It's cold, wet and rather blowy outside,
All our clocks must go back one in two,

And just then, not more than a moment ago,
I really fancied a cuddle.

   
me

love

                                                                  (oh, and me thankyou for

                                                                                              bailing me at

                                                   the petrol station this morning, what would me do

                                                                              without you)

A pin-up story, something lost, something cherished and yet lost, and then, years later in the most unlooked-for moment imaginable: found, chanced amidst the nettles, the fall of something unrelated yet, to a point, connected, found and then held close, something beautiful, something meaningful in all its apparent meaninglessness, something in recent honesty that listens perhaps just to us, it is unhinged, it has life, is life, is real, now; and though I may have wished,  I didn't, for a flyspeck second, believe that what has become, what this is, what is now, could ever, in my deepest well, have been.