Bealtaine

Mildew towels crumpled,
At the foot of the bed,
Beige and pebble dash,
The scent of freshly mown grass.

Golden hours tumbling,
Into lavender evenings,
And inkey blue nights.
Initials carved into city lights.

Victoria Sponges, piled high,
With whipped cream.
The taste of burnt ash,
Through my childhood window.

The pantheon of Girls
Soar across bridges
Built of pure gold.
Built only for youth.

The windscreen wipers
Wave serenely.
No dead flies left
On the dashboard.

Untouched
And untouchable
With fiery souls
Filled with promise.

Like the drop before sleep.
The void between dreams.
And forget me nots.
The things left unsaid
The days we lay in bed

Yellow Dresses
Now hang to dry
In the shower.