The Things I Wrote Yesterday

It was one of those days that meant poetry…


The blind is almost closed
But you find your way in
As streamers of sunshine
That have arrived late
To a celebration that only you and I will attend.
Outside, clouds float, far off voices shout and life happens
To this room, this moment,


How I wish I was that workman
Sitting in his corrugated shed
On a cheap plastic chair drinking tea
And laughing with his mate,
No care,
Just waiting to build.

How I wish I was that workman
Sitting with you,
As we waited to build.


By the end of the day I’d given up listening,
What was the point if it wasn’t your voice I could hear?
Faces dissolved in front of me until it was only you I could see
And when I thought, all thoughts became you:
Where were you?
How were you?
Were you thinking of me?

Later, on the train ride home,
The rhythm of train on track
Became your heart,
And the window, where I leant my head,
Became your shoulder.
And when I dozed, my day dreams were of you,
My only dream was you.


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