On the bed it was perfect
Blinds drawn
Sunlight still peeping through
Our arms entwined , it was so
Perfect, like the prettiest picture
Of us, passing through the field
Hand in hand
Even a butterfly’s wing couldn’t push between
Us, there, under the poplar
And on the bench by the road;
Wrapping our whispers and our laughter
Tight around each other
Like blankets against winter’s chill
Receiving, giving, receiving, giving
Like it was Christmas
As autumn’s sun spun up and down.
But then the perfection quailed,
It’s lion-heart quivered and sank
And you weren’t angry but
I could see your retreat and
I wanted to follow you but
A barrier like a rusty wrought iron fence blocked my path and
We were separated
By a window with the blinds drawn.