There’s an over stuffed sofa
In a house in the hills
Above the forests and below
The yellow-grey mountains
Where kites fly screeching
And trees whisper rustling
Whilst the sun roasts and sears
Until the grass is prickled and brown
And the water is blue and freezing.
I sat for a while and thought of you
And here (this home),
Where my room is as dark
And cool as a cave.
I dined under precarious kiwis
And set fire to the garden with the brazier.
The wine stained my lips here
In the garden, at the table
Where it snowed ash on us
Like a summer’s winter;
A Midsummer night’s dream
Only with alcohol and fire,
Instead of poetry and fairies.
The woods are still here, ah the woods!
Where fire-flies like animal eyes
Wink and shine in the bushes.
The clink of cutlery and rupture
Of ripped bread and cracking shellfish
Accompanying the singing and laughing.
The smell of citronella, stayed, lingering
As we sat on the sofa, drank tea
And watched the sky be rent apart
By vibrant lightening and shivered
At the thunder and cold, beneath duck down.
There is a house in the hills
Above the forests and beneath the skies
And I promised that you’d see it
One day, maybe, through my eyes.
The place where cold tile
And hot kitchen mingles
With the heat of summer and the
Warmth of love and really, truly,
I hope that one day you’ll see it
With forests below and skies above

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