He folds me up like a letter in an envelope,

waiting to send me somewhere foreign and exotic -

the taste on his lips is smoky like the sun, warm, the hint of

February flavours; light drizzle in the grass and through our hair,

rich and earthy, homely.

Lying in his bed, the music and the broken sunlight and soft lips;

this is perfection and I can lie here forever, together, safe.