Morning in Calais

Waking to hear the sound of engines,
The pitter patter on the streets below,
The sunday morning voices,
The cleaner up and down the corridors,
A beautiful woman beside me.

I know we are losing touch,
I never held it together when it mattered.

So we take our final walk before we head for the shore,
Hand in hand, how good that felt.

I was weaker back then

Troubled times, troubled rhymes,

We found a small cafe, one I would like to read in, have a coffee, read a story about an adventure in south america or a plane hijacked by nice criminals who couldn't fly a plane.

The coffee went down very slowly, I panicked about losing her, so after we found a small park with a water fountain and took a few photos.

I never saw the photos.

Infact I never saw her again.

My shoulders are broader now and my head is higher.
To those who feel weak, remember you will flower again.