On the hill

He meets me
On the hill
A schoolboy in size eleven shoes
Whose stubble is a carpet.
Glitter in his eyes
Rhythm in his stride
We sip coffee in the rain
Curl wet toes
Which we ignore
To stay outside
And smoke
Occupying fidgeting fingers

En route
Up the hill
A stooped man dressed in black
Asked if I wanted
To perform a good deed
I didn’t need
To say yes
On my way as I was
To ignite
The youth
Of the man
Who feels old

Back warm
In my flat
I play the cd
He pressed into my hand
Visions of mixes
Given with kisses
From 16 year old lips
Liven the room
As crashing guitars
Melt to silk woven strings
That cause me to stare
And imagine him there.