I met you at
some random party. It was so warm
inside, loads of people, all crushed up together. Alcohol, food and talk, talk, talk, much of
it boring. I guess if you go to enough
of these doos you hear the same conversations over and over again and they all morph
into one. Money, mortgages, property
prices; the things that stick us to our commitments until we’re paralysed.
I was happy
enough until you touched me. I can’t
remember when or how, but I looked into your face and that was it. I saw amongst that talk of work and wealth,
the freedom of winter - you changed the season in my soul.
“Come and
play in the snow,” you said or maybe I did.
We left the
warmth of the house and crossed the road, just the two of us. The black ice made the going treacherous; I
had to hold onto your arm. The Church
was opposite us, you kissed me under the lych gate. I glanced back at the house, afraid my
husband had come out to look for me, but he was still inside, no doubt he was
engrossed in discussing his pension plan.
The cold was
bitter, it was snowing in the graveyard, the flakes made a shroud that
concealed us as we made love on a tombstone.
I was scared to look at the name on it, in case it was mine.
No comments:
Post a Comment