Silly scribbles...

Ah, but when celebs rape trees

and The Sun has page three

your futility has meaning.

You played dot to dot with my heart

before we even knew the full picture.

We were children then

and now we stand – as adults – amazed.

Drawing on the canvass we've created

my palate is wet with streaming dreams...

trickling into consciousness.

I brush-stroke your hair with love.

With you watching paint dry

is an exciting pleasure.