In the small dark hours when I was low you crept in to my soul.
Red and angry at being woke from your creative slumber.
In my arms at last; the meaning of our love and the turning point of all those drifting years.
Perfect lips puckered in a sleepy kiss and eyes of the deepest blue.
His angel hair scented with the smell of apricots.
My first, my anchor, holding fast and turning our lives out into the flooding tide.
For Ryan.














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