Friday, 16 December 2016

Of All The Hugs


Of all the hugs
That ever were
Yours was the one
Which made of me
A Dunkirk soldier coming home
A flag that flickers in the wind
A foetus that aches to be born
A sultan spiced with every spice
A puppy’s tail on Christmas morn
A baby girl that weeps then laughs
A warming whisky on a mountaintop
A single lark not yet too old to sing

So that when we parted
And I was once again
A dancefloor cog
A strobe-lit, sweat-pit mess
Of the worst kind -
I did not mind.
(16 December 2016)