after too much wine
we tell each other secrets
remind each other of
things that happened
in our pasts, not so much
secrets but buried treasure
we knew would one day
be excavated, held high and
thrust back into the light
we marvel at the ease of
prescient revelations
feel the warm smiles bathe
between our ears, then
bravely, winsomely frown
at memories of tragedy
and life’s near-misses
delivered in gooseflesh packages
and so to bed
and useless reverie
where our florid multi-coloured
psyche is once more rinsed
to vague monochrome
and the cerebral librarian
deftly files away the minutiae
of our spendthrift day
*
© Graham R Sherwood 08/22
grahamrichardsherwood.co.uk 