A starry starry day

I live curious lives of

reality mixed in with 

tea, green and infused with

ancient leaves pulled from

tomes too heavy to

carry about with me.

But all I know and all I remember

is the tender glow of your

happy face the day we met and

the day we said goodbye, thinking it

no farewell but a see you

as sooner

as poss, maybe

earlier tbh: certainly 

no later than

that.

And I did suffer for my 

sanity, but I realise our love

though left-handed in ways

in its totality was 

right.

And that’s why I’m a righter

not a writer these days: you are the

wrong I need to mend and blend

and reconstruct and free and 

liberate and

live and

love and

thrive not

survive and

drive not

pedestrianise.

So many crossroads we refused

to take in our

anger.  And all that is now 

left us is the right way I’m

written.

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