35 going on 77

A sawtooth comb for newly brittle hair.

Almost raking the wet curls.

A mind sulking over some lost piece of life, perhaps?

Everything is easier under the cover of my clouds and stars, dear,

including your lucid waking and dreaming.

⊙

I take the long way home.

I pause.

From outside the pub, I listen to the band play.

I consider going inside.

I see someone eyeball me and motion to an empty seat.

I smile and shake my head.

He cannot take the place of the one on my mind tonight.

I do not seek distraction.

I will enjoy my own smouldering.

A game of patience.

A study in control.

A tyre pyre burning.

⊙

I pass a man followed by a woman.

He has his hand extended behind him.

Fingers shifting in an effort to convince her to hold his hand.

I wonder why she didn’t take it into hers.