The Paroles Of JK

Turns out, I suck at poems, so here’s something descriptive.

The wind that howls outside my window is a macabre cross between a wolf and a hoover. Don’t think that’s macabre? Imagine a half-wolf, half-Dyson crossbreed. Right. Now you see it. It howls, and shudders, and whistles through cracks in the walls. I can only imagine the rain that must be peppering the glass by the sound, the near-continual pitter-patter. I enjoy this weather; this tenseness before a storm. Nature is holding its collective breath before the shock.

And there! There it is! I hear the thunder boom and roll around the flats. I look across to you, lying curled in that jumper you “borrowed” months ago. You said you’d give it back the next time you saw me. Ever since then I’ve not wanted it back because it’s a first gift. It’s a gift to celebrate the first night spent together. It’s something that binds us, and giving it back would be a sign of you untying those bonds. So - don’t give it back.

A flash of lightning illuminates you, and the thunder that chases it seems to reach you in your dreams. You frown a little in your sleep, and I wonder; is it raining, where you are? Or are you watching Ypres, or seeing a thousand drummers plunge over a cliff?

You shift, murmur something. I kiss you on the corner of your lips and on your fingers; you murmur again and your fingers tighten on mine. Every time you do that in your sleep, every time you show that your instinct is to hold on tight to me, my heart leaps higher. I’m not going anywhere, not whilst your slender fingers entwine with mine as you sleep. Electricity leaps from sky to ground again; sound crashes into the building and you stir again. I look at you as you swim up from sleep. Your eyes open. I fall in love. Again. Every time you open your eyes I fall in love with you. How do you manage to do that? To un-man me with adoration every time my gaze meets yours after a pause of two meagre seconds?

“Hey.” You sound delicious when you’re drowsy.

“Hey back.” I smile. I can’t help but smile. You make me smile.

She listens. “It’s raining.”

“That it is. You were sleeping. Were you dreaming?”

“A little. You weren’t there.” She twists her fingers around mine and draws my hand to her body. She glances up, quickly, so that I won’t see she’s vulnerable when she says, “I didn’t like it.”

And then you wrinkle your nose. “Also, I dreamt I saw a thousand drummers leap off beachy head, drumkits and all.”

Huh. Half right, then.