I cannot weather your storm;
Your mood swings

Stained stinging
Thorn scorn

I am planning
To prune you

Your weedy words
No longer welcome

In this place
Overgrown

Six six six
Is your number

Deadhead

One oolong road ahead

Tingles down the spine
Whispering bristles
Temper my temple

Curls bounce back
My nape slackens
Wrapping a scarf

Securely smoothing
Flyaways

I step into the night

Back-to-back
We explore
The city walls
River banks
Side streets
My tired feet
Thankful
For your store
Of socks

The landlocked dock
Legs dangled, thongs mangled
Looking out to see
Acres of woodland
Expanding greenery
This is where I should be