In the Cross Country from Newcastle to Glasgow Central , returning after a  warming almost-week tangled in the arms and dreams of “A”.

A lot of dirty laundry is waiting for me in Glasgow

it means there’s a home waiting for me there

a table with a view- even though it’s made of moss and stains the paper when you rest of it

waiting, also, is the call I never made before I left and the manganese blue twilight sky.

 

 

Newcastle is always

tangled bodies wrapped around

6am bedtimes and 3pm mornings

slightly surreal nights spent cushioned by

his long lean

athlete’s legs.

One of the nights I dreamt of Berwick Upon Tweed

and a boy named Stuart

who wrote me love letters

and stuck them to the sea.

 

P.S. The image on tp is “A’s” Imagination Cubed drawing sent with much love afetr a little tiff. (it’s incredibly hard to draw with a mouse!)

The Hands belong to us from that day in Caffe Nero making paper roses with napkin and writing our names with butter.