Out here there is no cosy bed,
Spiky heather only. It is cold, damp,
And the air penetrating. Darkness plays tricks
On consciousness, conjuring black beast-like shapes
Closing in from another realm - the only company
Tonight, besides my own wild heartbeat.
Oh how I miss your warm embrace.
These rustling twigs of hawthorn, wind-thrashed,
Carry echoes of tender words, lost forever
In time's endless spiral.
Yet ego keeps replaying them still
Through yesterday's poignant vision,
Now out of reach and barren as these hills.
Aware of a million spiders crawling
Through undergrowth surrounding me
On all sides. An arachnid army
Of nightmarish terror, circling it's hapless prey.
No. Please stop. Think of something else. Think nothing at all...
Dozing now. Slipping out of time present, beyond
This bitter howling wind. Dry in heavy rain.
A candle burns where we lay.
Our lover's tiff never happened here
In dreamworld, and I never cried
Nor stormed out in blazing temper
Onto the bleak vastness of Bodmin Moor.
Instead, we loved and loved, and are loving still.