Sure About That

The best bit isn’t that chill when his eyes darken; going-to-rain grey sweeping in to drench the green.

Nor the quiver as I wonder what he’ll do this time; something he knows I hate – and he always knows if it is – or something I can use.

It isn’t the beginning, the middle, or the end, when I’m enduring, obeying, performing as best I can.

It’s not even afterwards, when we fall into a sprawl, hands and mouths everywhere, saying ‘sorry’ and ‘thank you’ without words.

No. It’s knowing it’s all there, waiting for me, all the time.

It’s the certainty.

Return to Home

Send Feedback