Consort

My goodness, how old we both are. You, my friend, have weathered better than I. Sturdy legs, while mine are fragile; liable to betray me without warning. Rat-atat-tat I groan. The effort- for what? A wasted journey? Salisbury cathedral hangs limp, a depiction of man's endeavours for redemption. Below it, empty white windows. Another knock. Lethargy mutates into curiosity at the ripple in our harmony. I caress your smooth, strong arms and shuffle forward. But then again, no. Sinking back; begone world. I reach for my black tool and sink into your embrace. Content just you and I.