That was the first weekend we turned
the thermostat down. And the world
was Battenburg cake and fat roadside
That weekend he washed my hair, after work.
He sank into my scalp with bergamot and
ylang ylang and a whisper of jackdaws
skydiving over the crisp clifftop bay.
He worked like a seamstress and unravelled
the hems of the day, teased and picked at
my heart's tangles. He left me rewound,
long threads and bobbins.
The days were getting longer but
it was ok. We were fit for handling the extra hours.
We were fortified, like sherry, and we had
the palms of each other's hands.