The wind blows with gusto
It blossoms across the warm garden
If this had been an holiday romance
The loss, or sense of it, would already be upon us
The warm winds of the wet Atlantic
The thrashing storms of Regis seas
Sixpence in the bubble gum machine
A parachute slow hanging from the citrus tree
In joy we seek out our shadows
In sorrow we search for somewhere light
That is why we ride the roller coaster
That is why we catch the magic bus at night
Here in my deckchair; meadow grass, mistletoe
A book of passionate poetry, aglow by the embers
Rapture, slow and slower now
And then to remind me that I ought to remember
To send her my valentine’s vote
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