markbousfield

It was the swallowing handshake,
that was the thing,
it's then that I knew.

As the neighbour bangs on the ceiling at half past two
I'm here lay in blankets alone with Tiny Dancer
calling
midnight to May.

Now let's get one thing straight,
I don't want you to think I'm unhappy,
but for the first time I feel like he felt.

Weather beaten and scarred,
not so fresh any more
knowing there is a long way to go down this road.

Plagued by the age old boy question,
"What does she really think of me?"
Not that I care,
not this punkly Tyrannosaurus.

Simple dreams of sea air,
good tea and coffee in the mid morning,
roughly hewn wooden cabinets white washed to match the breakfast bar,
freshly cut oranges on the counter,
sour grapefruits and browning toast on the rack,
me
greying and relaxed in an open white shirt,
cream linen trousers,
porthole windows and clear blue skies over the Pacific ocean,
grown up kids
a sense of pride
fulfillment
dreams met
goals achieved
a soft wrinkled smile
and broken crow's feet crinkles around the eyes.