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.
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