Ritual

Circle daubs on a double bed sheet
we talk over topics I would often glance
finding ourselves where the folded edges meet

Out in the street, we laugh and play sweet
piano tunes in fond remembrance
of those circle daubs on my double bed sheet

We were still children with hidden, blistered feet
marching to our songs not yet romanced
still finding ourselves where the folded edges meet

Keeping our cold hands clasped, our hair neat
I think I fell in love with your unending trance
above burnt orange circles on this double bed sheet

The mutual understanding was an unrelenting treat
though your words never meant to enhance
the story we cultivated in the springtime heat

So come back to me, take your seat
exhumed in this sombre circumstance
with the circle, orange daubs across my double bed sheet
sinking into creases where the folded edges meet