away from home.

With the sun on my left,
our shadow to my right
and the moon slipping out
from behind clouds overhead
I drive away.
Over rickety tracks and crossings,
past rusty windmills
and sleepy sheep;
familiar signs that are still so strange.
Repeating silent prayers for those left behind
by the roadside, buried in flowered nests.
The radio says it’s honest,
but keeps on crackling lies –
all I want is to turn to you.

no need.

I know I can sway, this way and that,
‘cos you’ll always catch me
if I lean too far.
It only hurts so much to part
‘cos it’s too close to being our time.
One day, soon,
I’ll be right in front of you
thinking it’s a surprise
(although it probably isn’t)
and placing it on your finger.
Then they can all stop
with their stupid doubts
and bets and such.

I’ve never cared, and I never will;
I can only think of that first morning
when I can look out the window
and see your sleeping eyes
reflected in the ocean.
The rooms will be filled with
trinkets and stories from all our travels,
photos of those past and present,
and the little brown puppy –
the one you’ll let me name!
Coffee will flow free
in the morning,
with the salty breeze.

At night we can lie on the couch
and fight over what to watch
then end up not watching anyway…
and you’ll fall asleep in my arms
while I bless my lucky luck.
Never far away
will be our little life
in a big, old building
covered with leaves in summer
and vines in winter.
You’ll have your sweets,
and I’ll have my full pages,
and together we’ll have our love.

I don’t do it so often anyway,
but I should.
I was reminded today, unexpectedly
how very much we belong,
and more importantly,
why.