I fell in love with the possibility of you.
With the brambles round the promise of a castle or the smell of salt before the last turning on to the beach.
I said your name in thirty different ways, charged with sex, stings, complacency and ecstasy before I set it back down and let it roll off my tongue and back down the hill.
I wore the large T-shirt of memories not made on my way to the bathroom and stretched my smile in the mirror so I became the image on my profile.
I combed your picture for bruises, baggage, underlying earthquakes and unresolved deal breakers. I twisted the haiku of information between my fingers like grass blades to see if I could weave truth.
I danced with the disaster momentarily, enough to feel the wind but before the house left the floor and plenty of time before the twister.
I’m not a sceptic, I said, I just bring my umbrella when I smell rain.