Words from the archives #10 Catching Confetti

Again, another one written a few years ago when I was back in Horley, part of a whole bunch I wrote from around this period. 

For more old stuff check WORDS FROM THE ARCHIVES  

Catching Confetti

I remember the temperature of her body, stood

at the bottom of the station steps, warming

my hands on the tops of her arms. A

climate of perfection that would have cultivated passion, on

any degree of London's volatile thermometer, red

carpeting the path towards our first kiss.

That moment was a ship worthy of splitting tower bridge.

My rationale stepped down and bowed, to

an ancient force a thousand times the power. All

unnecessary thought slipped away, like

a spacecraft discarding it's redundant super structure.

A separation I rarely experience.

The road leading to this was long, and

Full of false starts. It

took hindsight to realised that at last I'd arrived.

We parted ways at the station. I

went up the steps and she walked back down the concourse, looking

as if it was a routine Saturday evening for her, and

I remained on the stairs trying to catch

every last shred of confetti that was

that memory.