In the darkness cool fades of light cut shapes into my coupled arms, where you, carved into the face of a breathing shadow, rise up from your hiding place and kiss me; a hidden blush and rush of blood.

If I dug this out in twenty years, would I remember what it was like, or understand the feeling that saw me able and willing to write, even late into night, after my darling had long since retired?

She rests on my chest, her lips rise with each breath; one inch closer to kissing her smile.

My hour is dark and wrapped in toil; awaking stark, but soon adorned in all the tasks my midnight oil could not a dent or scratch have worn.

This back grows strong with all I hold – it’s been so long since lighter loads – but there’s no song where woes are old. Don’t dwell upon well-travelled roads.

By dusk I rest, I’m fully dressed, the day repressed within my chest, impressed upon the unexpressed and writhing words I’ve yet confessed.

— Deliver me to temperance, and drive this from my skin. I’ve long lived full of reverence for those who live in sin.

A friendly fog upon my mind, it hogs the sheets and wriggles, so rises me to go unwind with blades, with ducks and ripples.

At ease, we land, a tea in hand, the cosiest debriefing. At once, I’m grand, the freeze disbands, as trees upon their leafing.

I’m Autumn now; an orange brow comes loose, for how I tussle and truce with winds that won’t allow but one recluse unrustled.

Should I but follow suit, and play my hand like you, in spite of everything I swore I’d never do?

Or learn to cheat at cards, hold aces up my sleeves, fake it ‘til I make it, ‘til everyone believes.

Just once I saw you twist and dare to try for more. You won, but then retired to cells with welded doors.

That can’t be all there is; four suits and royal peers, sat in hands and waiting for numbers to appear.

One by one you play them, and build your house of cards. But I would rather gamble than lay in wait for guards.