“The air raid shelters are blooming clover.”
– Kate Bush
There was that
wonderful time
she whispered my
name near the river
O and hit me
in a soft spot
with three or four songs
and food and ale.
The radio woke us. We peered out
above the valley the city
sounds of water
of humidity and countryside
mingled with sighs.
Reclining.
More poetry at Used Furniture.
I thinking it was a fine morning-after.