There is a hazard to thinking your thoughts aloud when slurping on tea. The quick “by God” is soon regretted as I struggle to stop my coughs from escaping; better to choke to death than draw attention now?

It’s poetic. It’s coincidental. It’s a gift and a curse. I’m in a haven of wonder, with eyes on the prowl. To my left, and in front (who knows what’s behind), the flight and the fancy, hand-in-hand, side-by-side.

I imagine it’s what dreams are made of, but without the drunken courage of lucid dreams, by which I mean the reckless abandon that so often leads to sex or death; caught in the middle-ground, alive and aroused.

What now for this timid adoration? It’d be easy to blame rules for non-action; the passive but beating heart is well-trained in excuses. Should I dare a whisper, or a language-less approach? These signs demand we linger, and harbour all our words.

It’s another busy day when we’ve a buzzier appeal, all gathered round the honey pot at the heart of life’s ordeal. The Springtime sings of Summer, and we live alone to dream of every possibility our sleeping eyes have seen.

A darker day grows grey and cold. Behold the icy mass, the crass and unforgiving chill that bows to no lighter step or salty precaution; it’s us who cower and slip upon its glazy eye with which it weeps a blackened sheet beneath its white mascara. Fall victim to the winter’s eye and cry your neatly frozen tears to a howling air of disregard, for nobody here can hear nor see you ‘neath their many furs and shoes not made for Winter.

We sat beneath a makeshift tent, pulled taut by far too many lines of string that crossed and tied in knots and bows to anything that let them, and shared a moreish banquet, feasting on the food and words, till all we had were chocolate stars and kisses by the dozen.

So many times I’m cast aside, like sun when you want rain. I hate the way you shun my shine, but love you all the same.

So many lustful vacancies stray loose across my way. I loathe how effort goes unseen, but love you all the same.

So many calls go unreturned; proclaiming love in vain. I wish, for once, my voice was heard, but love you all the same.

For all the same I love you. I love you all the same. Here I proclaim in falling rain, let love not be in vain.