It was with the once gleaming look,

a smile with a glint attached

and a face that radiated honesty,

that I thanked anyone

who had liked,

loved,

fancied,

drooled over to the point where

spittle ran out of the corner of their mouths

and they had the look of basting

a turkey for Christmas etched

across their sly grin chops,

kissed, French kissed,

snogged like there was tomorrow

and in some cases like there was no

day after that,

whispered down the ear such words

of shutting the door and keeping

the world at bay, nibbled

upon my neck, laughed with,

drank under the table by,

lived with my demons as they

took up residence in the corner

of the room and offered

to wage war on my sullen black dog,

to hold my hand and urged me to growl

at the stinking mutt,

to have ever wanted to take me to bed

and cook me a Full English

the next day, the works, plenty of eggs;

sometimes the thought of you existing

makes me smile.

 

Ian D. Hall 2017