We walk streets- filled with rain and Christmas. as the fog fades away; gently. Words-not quite shared, never fully hidden- hold sway in the bog. A green kitchen- dark, still, autumnal; filled with honesty.
I open up old wounds, as the radio plays, too quiet for our eager ears. Your eyes-pure/true/bright, catch me out, as November drizzle falls softly down, on heavy coats.