Philosophie.

Pulling long strands of your lemon grass hair from my clothes,

I consider, as I watch them fall to the ground one by one,

Should I let you go as easily?

Coffee stains, you see my Darling, are not so easy to remove.

And amber stones infect my heart with rapidity.

I stole an esoteric kiss from red, enraptured, trembling lips,

While eyes deep and wide enough to drown in shot me through the chest,

And fingertips

Traced my limbs

Through candle-lit smoke rings.

And achingly beautiful birthmarks, scars and loveable idiosyncrasies

Swirl around my mind, awash with whisky,

And Puccini,

And suicidal Butterflies.

A dangerous, heady, Olive-green elixir.

An ethereal melee perpetuating unrest,

And thoughts of when I'll be seeing you next...

And other nervous questions,

Like where can you get a good night sleep round here?