Gardens Of The South

I feel desire in the night from the pools below
You take me down to the edge and stars lay as flakes of snow
In ripples and such with a light
That reflects your gesturing hands
That I’ve ached to touch

Time steals from our walk through the trees
In the morning glow that tastes of petrol and fallen leaves
When you ask ‘Have I been saying too much?’
I reply ‘I can tell by your eyes and your hands that you haven’t said enough’

Even though I style golden images of you
Every now and then, nothing wrong with a rose-view

Slow views from a window on a train
Frozen afternoon mist rolls and caresses the distant hills.
Dotted here and there, the carparks and stations then
That defined sunday hours I spent in my head
Travelling homeward again

It’s always hard thinking back to the frost and the cold
With the heat, dry and still as it is
My arms redden as I sit writing this
But, in a week with you in the gardens of the south
Gives me time to remember the winter we’ve had ,
the pools of your eyes and your mouth

Images of time are suffused with a strong fuel
I forget a line, but the picture still burns through
And even though I style these golden images of you
Every now and then, nothing wrong with a rose-view


Notes

I finished writing the lyrics to this on a hot Spring day while on holiday in South Devon.