the time we spent
hell ridden
bent over the sides of boats
in lake Como
twiddling thorns and roses
between our bruised hands
it always pricked
but never hurt me
drinking wine with no sophistication
pasta shells on a plate
spelled out
'it's too late'
And on that plane journey back
to the mundane of this country
to the countless pages
of a really crap novel
you held my hand
and I knew
that no matter what
we would always be best friends
this is very nice! sorry i didn't respond to your email etc. i did appreciate your response, thankyou! just not the demand for another response. ya know how tis. hope yer well.
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