Lynher II

Nine thirteen, water laps over chain and rusted sheet metal,
I pop a break on, admire the Sun upon a well painted sky.
A man beside me fumbles over the goods inside his nose, a bus gets on in my lane meaning we'll get priority off,
there's small goodness in that.

And you
ask to leave the backseat,
carried to the top deck
for a better view of the Tamar below,
sowing the seeds of a deep love with water,
one of the few love affairs that matter.
The chain pulls, we watch the rotation a while, allow the Sun to bathe us with joy chemicals
before returning to life again.